


The Luck You Got

by Castielslostwings



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Angst with a Happy Ending, Caretaker Castiel (Supernatural), Castiel Acts Like Endverse Castiel (Supernatural), Castiel parenting his siblings, Chef Castiel (Supernatural), Childhood Sweethearts, Chuck Shurley's A+ Parenting, DCBB, Dean/Cas Big Bang 2019 (Supernatural), Detox, Domestic Castiel/Dean Winchester, Drug Addiction, Drug Dealer Gabriel, Effects of Addiction on Family, Firefighter Benny Lafitte, Firefighter Dean Winchester, Getting Back Together, Graphic descriptions of drug use, Inner City, Inspired by Shameless (US), John Winchester's A+ Parenting, Kingpin Kali, Lawyer Sam Winchester, M/M, Mentions of Cas/Others (NO Cheating), Minor Gabriel/Kali (Supernatural), Near Death Experiences, Neighbors, Overdose, Paramedic Dean Winchester, Prostitute Castiel (Supernatural), Protective Dean Winchester, Recovery, Romance, Unsafe Sex, switch Dean/Cas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-30
Updated: 2019-10-30
Packaged: 2020-11-28 18:08:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 89,743
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20970815
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Castielslostwings/pseuds/Castielslostwings
Summary: Castiel and Dean grew up together. Both from broke, broken homes, falling in love was easy - until Dean’s father whisked him away. Years later, Cas is still living the struggle, selling his body to keep a roof over his siblings' heads and using drugs to get by. When Dean returns as a fully grown adult (and a paramedic at that) with his kid-brother-turned-lawyer in tow, Castiel can’t help feeling as if they’re picking up exactly where they left off. Falling swiftly in love all over again but used to only having himself to rely on, he struggles to let Dean in. When Gabriel gets arrested and takes a major source of the family’s income down with him, Castiel struggles to cope and leans on drugs and prostitution instead of Dean. Determined not to lose him for a second time, Dean fights to drag Castiel back from the claws of addiction and the brink of death, no matter what it takes. With help from friends, family, and Dean, Castiel finds himself working towards something for the first time ever, determined to choose life, love, and something more than what the city has always told him is all he has to offer.





	1. Eastside

**Author's Note:**

  * For [CoinofStone](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CoinofStone/gifts).

> 10th anniversary DCBB time! <3  
Some notes: This fic is Shameless-inspired (US version), but there's no need to have watched the show! If you have seen it, you'll probably recognize some scenes, shoutouts, and a few inspired-by characters. But it's not necessary viewing to read.
> 
> Speaking of, "The Luck You Got" would not exist _at all_ without my best buddy [CoinofStone](https://coinofstone.tumblr.com), who read the first incarnation and was like, "Yea, no, this is terrible, but here, try this!" Which resulted in me binging Shameless, a full re-write, and then multiple subsequent sessions of her tearing _that_ fic apart and making me do it again. But now we have this and it's a fucking masterpiece, so words cannot express how grateful I am to Jen for continuing to push and for not getting too frustrated with me demanding she go back and edit it yet again. Thank you.
> 
> Additional thank yous to the best alpha/beta readers out there: Wargurl83, EllenOfOz, Dahlya, and OliveGray33, especially for the supportive comments and encouragement <3 and to Monika & Joy, the most wonderful cheerleaders and hype girls.
> 
> Huge shout out to my artist [Deancebra](https://deancebra-art.tumblr.com) who was a pleasure to work with and who thought she was getting off easy claiming only one fic and then proceeded to choose the most challenging scene on the planet to convert into art. Please, please check out the [Art Masterpost](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21224498) and the embedded art and give Deancebra all the love. <3
> 
> Thank you to the DCBB mods Diamond & Muse for running such a smooth and fun challenge! It was an honor to participate.
> 
> There are song accompaniment tracks for each chapter, they're listed and linked to YouTube in the chapter notes at the top, but just in case you want the whole playlist, I'll paste it at the bottom of this chapter along with a link to a free Spotify playlist with all of them in order.
> 
> Tag-related Specific, Possibly Spoiler Notes on Content:  
-Despite all the depressing tags, this is very much a LOVE story!  
-Castiel is a prostitute and that continues while he is together with Dean. There is NO cheating or deception; Dean knows what he does and accepts him fully (we love a supportive BF).  
-As such, there are a few onscreen mature-level sexual moments with Balthazar and unnamed OMCs.  
-I will leave warnings at the top of chapters with the more triggering content  
-There is no contrived relationship breakup, Castiel struggles hard but Dean never leaves him or gives up on him. The angst is all related to Cas' struggle with drug use.  
-There's a heavy emphasis on the family dynamics/found family, as such there are a bunch of minor relationships for the "kids" that are not tagged. None are contentious and there is no underage/explicit content for anyone but Dean/Cas.  
-There is lowkey Sabriel towards the end, but there's zero onscreen affection and you can ignore it if that isn't your bag. I would also say you could interpret Gabe/Kali/Sam if you wanted to, but again, Sam's romantic life barely features at all. Blink and you'll miss it.  
-There's a real, fleshed-out happy ending that will make the angst all better, I promise not to leave you hanging or cut the story off too soon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter track:[Eastside](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KFof8aaUvGY)

_When I was young, I fell in love,_  
_We used to hold hands, man, that was enough._  
_Then we grew up, started to touch,_  
_Used to kiss underneath the light on the back of the bus_  
_Oh no, your daddy didn't like me much,_  
_And he didn't believe me when I said you were the one_  
_Oh, every day, he found a way out of the window to sneak out late_

The city, especially the East Side, has always been as much a part of Castiel as his own body. He grew up on these grimy streets, knows every corner and alley like the back of his hand. For the most part, the city isn’t what everyone who isn’t from here thinks it is, a cesspool of gangs and violence, break-ins and drive-bys. In reality, it’s just a shit-ton of broke motherfuckers trying to scrape together rent and enough extra to put food on the table for their kids. It’s elderly couples, widows, and widowers who’ve lived their whole lives in the same place and certainly aren’t going to leave now, no matter how unsafe the neighborhood around them has become. And yea, when people get broke they get desperate, and gangs are the only family some folks here have ever known. Castiel gets it, he’d been suckered in as a kid too, only he got lucky—he’d managed to get himself drop kicked for being useless and high all the time. The high part had mostly been for show, an act he’d stepped up when he realized how dangerous the situation he’d gotten himself into was, though it’d been pure luck that it worked. 

Well, luck… and Gabriel.

Whatever the reason he started though, these days _ “the high thing” _ is something Castiel does because it’s the only bright spot in his otherwise dreary life. And since Gabriel is still very much _ in, _ access isn’t exactly a difficulty. Occasionally, Castiel feels guilty for his indulgences, but playing parent to six (well, five these days) children he had no hand in bringing forth unto this earth is exhausting and frustrating in a way that yoga and even alcohol don’t put a dent in soothing. If his mother hadn’t left his and Gabriel’s father to “start over” with some douchebag she was _ sure _ was seconds away from being catapulted into the spotlight as the world’s next great novelist, maybe Castiel would have had a shot at being something _ other _than useless and high, but that ship has fucking sailed. With one of their parents dead and the other as good as, his brothers and sisters had needed him and Castiel wasn’t about to let them get lost in the broken foster system just because he had some dreams once upon a time. So sue him if he’s got a vice or two, he still comes through in the clutch, every damn day. 

Today included. Despite having been on his feet all night working the alley behind the seedy club he favors (_ hey, it beats a corner) _, Castiel has miles to go before he can sleep. It’s somewhere between five and six in the morning as he trudges home, sunlight just barely cracking through the space between the mountains that tower over the city and the dark sky. The streetlights that should lead the way are mostly burnt out, creating shadows that would be ominous if he didn’t already know the streets and the creatures that inhabit them from top to bottom, inside and out. The worn Converse on his feet slap against the pavement, the stitching that holds them together threatening to bust loose at any second. He adds fixing them with glue to the mental list he’s got running of things he’ll need to do before he can crash this morning, because God knows he can’t afford a new pair and he doesn’t see that changing any time soon. 

Castiel grimaces as the disintegrating sole rubs painfully at his instep instead of supporting his foot, and though he’s distracted by the state of his shoe, he doesn’t miss the shadow moving surreptitiously behind him. He pretends to stop and pick at his laces, knowing full well how vulnerable he appears down on one knee and with his back to the dark line of houses and alleys at his left. By the time the shadow pounces, Castiel’s already pulled his knife, spinning and grabbing his assailant nearly out of mid-air to shove him up roughly against the splintered wood of the nearest streetlight. He holds the exposed blade to his would-be attacker’s neck and smirks smugly.

“Good morning, Gabriel.” 

“Cassie! What’s shakin’ little bro?” Gabriel grins widely and snaps his gum in Castiel’s face, making him scrunch his nose, grossed out by the flecks of spit that hit his skin. However reluctantly, he rolls his eyes and lets Gabriel down from where he’s pinned up on his toes, flipping his butterfly knife shut and pocketing it once again. He ignores Gabe’s question and resumes his walk home.

“I thought you were ‘working from home’ tonight,” he says conversationally as his brother falls into step beside him, quickening his gait so that his shorter legs can keep up with Cas’ longer ones. 

“House call,” Gabe explains vaguely. “Plus I wanted to check in on you. So, how’s tricks?”

Castiel snorts, the terrible pun not lost on him in the least. “I told you not to watch me while I’m working.” 

“Blech.” Gabriel recoils, sticking out his tongue and shaking his head like a dog. “Cassie, sugar baby cookie honey, the _ last _ thing I want to do with my time is watch my little brother suck off a bunch of closeted, balding jerks I went to high school with. I watch _ out _for you, make sure you’re not getting any new holes poked into that male model looking tummy of yours. I know for a fact you aren’t into bloodplay.” 

Castiel glares at him and picks up his pace out of spite, making Gabe scamper to keep up. “Thank you for your concern, Gabriel, but I’m perfectly capable of watching my own back.”

“Mmmhmm, bet that’s a marketable skill, you put that on your resume?” 

“Most of my clients are decent people, you know. You _ like _Balthazar.” 

“So do you! I’ll never understand why you won’t just let him take you out, _ Pretty Woman _ that pretty face up. He’s _ nice, _Cassie, and he cares about you. Think about it, big house in the country? Shoes that aren’t falling off your feet? You could do worse than take his money, baby bro.” 

Castiel sighs and pulls out the joint that’s tucked behind his ear, lighting it up and taking a deep drag. He blows the smoke sideways into Gabriel’s face, pleased when his brother coughs and has to spit out his gum. “I already take his money,” he finally replies. “I’m not interested in Balthazar in that way. If he wants to pay me for a service, I’m happy to provide it but that’s all.” 

Gabriel shakes his head, stuffing hands into the pockets of his jeans as they walk. “It’s your life.” Castiel shoots him a sidelong glance as they reach their house, pausing at the bottom of the stoop to finish their conversation away from any prying ears. He knows Gabriel won’t come in, he rarely does before the kids are off to school. But Gabriel always delivers when it comes to bills, so Castiel doesn’t complain. It’s more than Michael does for them.

“Why don’t you take your own advice, Gabe? Be Kali’s kept man. She certainly has the means.” He raises his eyebrows and can’t hold back the upturn of his lips when his brother scoffs.

“That’s hardly the same thing, Cas. Kali’s a goddess but she’s also a kingpin. There’s no getting out for me or settling down for her,” he replies, his hazel eyes bright and earnest, and it’s clear this conversation is turning pointless. Without question, Gabriel has his best interests at heart, but that doesn’t mean he has any insight into what keeps Castiel putting one foot in front of the other day after day, and that’s never going to be the idea of coming home to Balthazar, however kind and generous he might be. 

“Regardless.” Castiel shrugs, burning down the last of the roach with a deep pull. “Neither of us can change who we are and what we want.” He flicks the butt into the street as his eyes involuntarily flicker down it to land on a now-condemned house that once upon a time held Castiel’s every hope and dream. Dark and shuttered, empty on the inside and useless except as temporary shelter for the occasional undiscerning squatter, it’s nothing but a cliched metaphor for Castiel’s current existence. His glance is brief but Gabriel is sharp, and his eyes dart over there too.

“Oh Cassie,” he sighs, his expression filled with pity. 

“Don’t,” Castiel cuts him off sharply, unlocking the front door and letting himself inside. “Are you coming? I need to make lunches,” he says without turning around. Gabriel hesitates, eyes burning through Castiel’s back while he decides whether to push him or not. Castiel just waits. Knowing Gabriel, his desire to get laid will win out eventually. 

“Nah,” he replies after a long silence. “I gotta check on Kali, make a drop. I’ll be back in a few hours.”

“I’ll be asleep.” 

“Electric’s due today, I’m pretty sure.” 

“I’ll check the calendar. Goodnight Gabriel,” Castiel says as he steps over the threshold and lets the door close behind him, the metal frame slamming loud against the silence of the early morning. As usual, Gabriel doesn’t reply or follow him in. 

Kicking off his shoes by the door, Castiel takes a deep breath and centers himself for all the tasks ahead, all of the daily motions he has to slog his way through over the next two hours. He starts with the laundry, moving wet things over to the dryer and throwing the next load in, repositioning the piece of two by four that’s jammed underneath to prevent the old-ass thing and its broken drum from vibrating the entire house into the next dimension. Dishes are next; last night’s dinner and what feels like a truckload of bowls the houseful of hungry teenagers must have used after Castiel left. _ Fuckers, _ Castiel thinks to himself. He _ thought _ the twins and Hannah had been asleep when he peeked in on them before heading to the club, but perhaps they’d faked him out because no way did Anna and Rachel make this much of a mess on their own. This disaster has _t_ _ eenage boy _written all over it. Judging from the remnants in the trash that no one bothered to hide, one of them must have scored some cash and celebrated by running down to the bodega for supplies to throw the whole gang a ramen and hot dog party. 

Castiel cleans enough bowls and spoons to serve everyone cereal, setting them down on the table and pouring a helping into each out of an econo-sized bag of off-brand Cookie Crunch. Wiping his hands, he sets off up the stairs for his least favorite part of the morning. He hears Rachel’s alarm clock already buzzing as he reaches the second-floor landing and pushes the door to her, Anna, and Hannah’s room open without hesitation.

“You up?” Indecipherable grumbling trickles out from the blond-haired lump mostly hidden underneath Rachel’s comforter, and Castiel hits the lights just to be sure. Hannah’s already sitting on the edge of her bed, picking through a basket of probably-clean laundry. 

“Cas, have you seen the blazer I got at Goodwill?” 

Castiel struggles to keep his face neutral with no sign of _ oh, sorry, the dryer burned a hole through the side of it three days ago _ showing in his expression, because Hannah searched for _ two years _ for an affordable one close to her size to show up in any of the thrift shops. Cas is a good parent ( _ in absentia), _ but he’s not a fucking saint, nor is he in the mood to dry dramatic sixteen-year-old girl tears this morning. He shrugs noncommittally as he backs out of the room, Rachel finally stalking out from under the covers and shoulder checking him in the tight hallway as she rushes to lay claim to the bathroom. Ever since she turned eighteen last fall she’s been insistent on not leaving the house without a full face of makeup, _ especially _for school. Cas knows she’s swiping the stuff she uses but shoplifting is basically a rite of passage in their neighborhood, and Rachel’s smart enough to know the consequences if she gets caught.

“_Who used my foundation?” _Her voice rings out angrily from inside the small bathroom and Castiel ignores her outright.

“Uh, have you checked under your bed?” He hopes he sounds convincing enough to avoid being cornered later by Hannah but he doesn’t stick around to find out. As he takes off down the hall to the boys’ room he can hear her wailing and that only makes him walk faster. Barging in and flicking on the lights without pretense, Castiel reaches out to pull blankets off of the two gangly bodies tucked into the upper and lower bunk beds at the same time. 

“_Fuck off, Cas,” _he hears muttered from the top bunk as he expertly dodges a dirty-socked foot kicked out in his direction. 

“Gladly,” Castiel replies lightly as he grabs shirts and pants from a _ probably-not-clean _dresser drawer overflowing with them and chucks a pair into each of the bunks. “So long as you keep your mouth clean at school. You know Adler’s looking for any excuse to suspend you.” Jimmy sits up in his bed, squinty-eyed and hair bedraggled, looking so much like a young Cas that it hurts a little. 

“That’s just because I remind him of _ you,” _ Jimmy complains, rubbing his eyes and looking skeptically at the shirt that was flung into his lap. “Your stupid face ruined my life before I even _ got _to high school.” 

“I apologize for my stupid face,” Castiel deadpans, before kicking the bottom of the bunk. “Manny, you too. Rise and shine.” Manny’s face peeks out from underneath his blanket and even in sleep, he looks more put-together than Jimmy. His hair is still combed down and even from where Cas is standing he can tell that he’s showered within the last three days, unlike _ some people _. He can’t remember being this disgusting as a teen, but he’d also had a mother to do his laundry and kick his ass into high gear when he was their age. 

“You know, I have the same face and Adler doesn’t mess with me,” Manny pipes up and Jimmy groans.

“That’s ‘cause you’re a fucking goodie-two-shoes loser,” he shoots back, whipping his khakis over the side of the top bunk and barely missing Cas’ head as he tries to smack his twin. Castiel takes that as his cue to sidestep from the room, leaving the fourteen-year-olds to bicker by themselves.

“Downstairs, fifteen minutes,” he calls over his shoulder. “Trash needs to get to the curb before we leave and it’s both of your turns.” He dodges both Hannah and Rachel as they fly in opposite directions down the hall, pulling open the door that conceals the stairs to the attic and ascending them quickly. He barely even glances at the door next to it, the one that gives way to a permanently darkened room that despite their almost impossible lack of space, no one ever goes in, not since that night their mom was carried out of it on a stretcher.

“Anna?” He calls as he climbs. “Anna, you up?” The partition that separates the left side of the attic from the stairwell creaks and sways towards him slightly, most likely from Anna leaning on it on the opposite side as she rolls out of his bed. The soon-to-be seventeen-year-old frequently escapes up here when he’s gone for the night, seeking quiet and solitude which Cas can relate to immensely. Gabe would never allow any of the kids inside his room, never mind to sleep in his bed, but Castiel thinks that has more to do with what’s most likely hidden under the mattress than selfishness. Gabe always makes sure to lock the door in his own partition but the drywall is flimsy enough that Cas could probably punch his way in through the wall if he really wanted to. 

Actually, he’s sort of surprised none of the kids have tried that in a moment of privacy-craving fury. Regardless, as far as he’s concerned, he’s just glad that Anna can get the privacy she needs, little budding introvert that she is. He gets it, he often feels the same in this overstuffed, underfunded house. 

Anna’s bright red hair pokes out from the door to his side of the attic, hazel eyes blinking sleepily. “Rachel out of the bathroom?” 

“Hannah’s in there now,” Castiel replies, and Anna nods as she stifles a yawn. 

“Will you sign my permission slip for our field trip next week? Rachel already gave me the ten dollars but she said the school can tell her signature apart from yours now.” Castiel nods as he ruffles her hair, grinning as she pulls away to frantically comb through the new knots with her fingers. “It’s on the counter,” she says with a glare before disappearing back into his room.

“Don’t lie back down!” he calls after her. “Fifteen minutes, downstairs!” 

Castiel clomps heavily back down to the second floor, flattening himself against the wall as he slips out from behind the attic door to prevent being bulldozed by Jimmy and Manny as they race each other to the bathroom. 

“You have time to shower quickly!” He yells pointedly after Jimmy but unsurprisingly gets no response as the slam of the bathroom door in Manny’s face and Hannah’s shriek at her space being invaded pierces the air instead. Castiel sighs and continues down the last flight of stairs. The dryer buzzes just as his feet hit the floor and he goes to check on it. _ Still wet, all of it. _His work uniform will dry by this afternoon but it looks like anyone who was depending on this load for clean school clothes is gonna be shit out of luck today. He restarts the machine and moves on to the kitchen, gathering the three trash bags that have been sitting and moving them to block the door so the twins can’t just ignore them on their way out. 

While he waits for the five tornados to blow in after him, he grabs lunch boxes, bread, and what’s left of the deli cuts from the fridge, setting about making lunches. Setting the ingredients out assembly-line style, he realizes there are only three slices of cheese left and so rips one of them in half, one for each twin on top of their ham and mayo. Sandwiches into boxes, he portions out a handful of chips from an industrial-sized bag into smaller ones and tucks those in too. As he’s refilling water bottles, everyone stumbles in, bags flying and hands shoving at each other for their preferred seats. Castiel grabs a coffee tin labeled _ “Bills” _ off of the top of the fridge and drops it in the middle of the table after briefly consulting the calendar hanging on the fridge.

“Electric today,” he declares, as everyone empties their pockets of stray dollar bills and change and drops their spoils into the can. Castiel grabs the milk from the fridge as he returns the ham, noting with frustrated resignation that it’s only got an inch or so left at the bottom. He sticks it under the tap for a minute, diluting the milk with water, before handing it over to Rachel who doesn’t even blink as she wets her cereal and passes the jug on. He scribbles on Anna’s permission slip and hands it over, noticing that she’s still got a ten-dollar bill clutched in her hand. She looks up at him mournfully.

“Do you need it for the bills?” 

Castiel hesitates, eyeing the half-full box and knowing perfectly well that he should tell her to put it in but unable to break her heart. _ We’ll be alright, _ he thinks. Property taxes on the house are due soon but Cas has been saving, still has money in his pocket from the night before, and Gabe hasn’t even chipped in yet. Plus, he’s due to send Michael a guilt-laden text message asking how he’s enjoying his responsibility-free college experience while his siblings suffer. 

He opens his mouth to tell her to keep it.

“No way,” Rachel cuts in firmly before he’s able to. “That’s my birthday present to you. You’re going on that field trip. You _ love _the science museum.” Castiel nods his approval and Anna grins, hugging her sister and shoving the note and money away inside her backpack. Castiel’s about to say something encouraging, but he’s distracted by the huge, crusted stain running down the front of Jimmy’s uniform polo. 

“You can’t wear that,” he groans, making his way over to the more obnoxious twin’s side. “Arms up.” Jimmy obliges around mouthfuls of cereal as Castiel tugs his shirt off, three steps to the laundry machines before he remembers nothing is dry. “Fuck,” he murmurs to himself and then shakes his head, backtracking as he flips the shirt inside out and jams it back over Jimmy’s head. “Good enough,” he sighs, and Jimmy happily shoves his arms back through without any complaint, cereal milk already dripping down the unstained side. 

On the way to school, Castiel walks at the front of the pack, quizzing Manny for a test he has later that day. Jimmy skateboards ahead and refuses to participate, but Manny nails every question Castiel asks him. Despite everything, Castiel’s filled with pride at how smart Manny is and how many possibilities lay before him. It makes all the bullshit seem a little more worth it at moments like this where it seems like all of his siblings might not be doomed to a life like his. And then he sniffs the air, catching wind of a familiar smell and looking over his shoulder to see Rachel openly smoking a joint. He deflates a little, dropping back from his place at the front to steal it out from between her fingers and stub out the cherry on someone’s railing as they pass.

“_Not _before or during school,” Castiel scolds. “They hate our family enough, are you trying to get your brothers sent to foster care?” Rachel has the decency to look ashamed before she refocuses her attention completely on fixing her lipstick. 

“Sorry, Cas,” she mutters. “But don’t fuckin’ smoke that, it’s mine.” Castiel tucks it in his pocket and holds up three fingers.

“Scout’s honor,” he agrees with a wry smile and Rachel snorts.

“They wouldn’t let your gay ass anywhere near the boy scouts,” she retorts as they cross the street and tackle the hill that leads up to the high school. Castiel grins.

“Maybe I figure I’ve fucked enough former ones that I’m in by osmosis or something,” he replies, and Rachel laughs before spotting a group of her friends and taking off. 

“See you assholes later,” she yells over her shoulder. Hannah and Anna take off in the same way shortly after, while Castiel walks Jimmy and Manny to the front door. He keeps his distance from the entrance when he sees the Principal, Zachariah Adler, holding the door open and welcoming students as they arrive, though. 

“Seriously, don’t come any closer,” Jimmy demands with a poisonous glare in his direction. “If he sees you he’s gonna be in a bad mood all day, and _ who _ is gonna suffer for that? _ Me, _ Cas_. _Go home. I think me and Manny will be safe to walk the last twenty feet without you hovering over us like we’re babies.” 

“I love you too,” Castiel says dispassionately. “Do not walk home without Rachel or Gabriel,” he calls after them sternly, and Jimmy groans as Mr. Adler’s attention is snagged by Castiel’s raised voice. His eyes narrow and the dirty look he fixes on Castiel could melt cities. In return, Cas just raises a hand in greeting and then hightails it back down the hill and out of sight. It’s hard to believe someone could be so hateful, but it’s been twelve years and Adler is clearly still as disgusted by him as the day he’d caught him and _ Dean _making out in the janitor’s closet. Well, and under the bleachers. And again in one of the classrooms after hours. If Castiel hadn’t known better, he might have thought the guy was tailing them. 

As he walks home, hands in pockets, doing his best to enjoy the increasingly nice day despite its lackluster beginnings (and what will undoubtedly be a lackluster middle and ending), his thoughts drift from Adler to the much more pleasant memory of _ Dean. _It’s not a topic Castiel often allows himself to dwell on, save for at night when he’s alone and no one can see how much it hurts to remember. But out here in the bright light of day, Dean’s memory doesn’t haunt him like it usually does. Today, it just feels warm and welcoming, a reminder of better times, of days when Castiel still had hope that his life might turn out better than his mother’s. Days when he thought someday he might actually leave this town for good, or at least make something of himself. 

But facts are facts and those days, like Dean, are long gone. 

Still. As he passes certain landmarks, places in the neighborhood where memory fragments burn the brightest, he can’t help but admit to himself that things weren’t always this way.

In fact, Castiel’s got plenty of happy memories growing up here, back before his mother died and his step-dad took off on them, leaving him and Gabriel to pick up the pieces as best they could. He remembers giant kickball games with the entire block clogging up the street, Gabe teaching him how to jimmy open fire hydrants in the summer. He remembers cookouts where everyone on the block brought something and no one went hungry because everyone shared. He remembers riding the bike he pulled from someone’s trash and fixed up himself down to the bodega for popsicles or candy with a beautiful green-eyed boy on the handlebars. He remembers walking the ten or so blocks to school with his brother, his friends, and that same boy in all manner of weather for _ twelve _years because the city’s school buses, which were always unreliable at best, seemed to cease functioning entirely as soon as he hit first grade.

But not every memory is a good one. There are memories of fights between his parents, broken dishes and bruised eye sockets. There’s the night his mother died, a sharp recollection of all the kids being herded into one room and held there with the door closed while the medics took her body away so that none of them would see. And there’s the one from shortly after that. The one where the man Cas had come to know and believe in as his father left and never came back. There’s the moment where Chuck had grabbed his face and told him that it was all up to him now, before grabbing his coat and disappearing into the night without any further explanation. 

Those are bad, but everyone’s got family shit, Castiel knows that. 

One of the worst memories _ not _ involving his family has to do with an alleyway that’s six doors down from their house. It’s nothing more than a damp tunnel tucked in between the row homes like so many exactly like it all over the city, but when Castiel was seventeen he was stabbed and left for dead in that alley for the sole crime of taking a shortcut home and stumbling upon a handful of guys who didn’t like who he was, didn’t like who he _ kissed _ . It’s not a _ fun _memory by any means, but the years have softened its sharp edges and Castiel hardly even flinches anymore if he needs to walk that way. He’s still not about to let his siblings walk to school without him, though. Just in case.

Castiel avoids the alley, reaches his house, and kicks off his shoes outside the front door, plopping down on the stoop and lighting up the joint he promised Rachel he wouldn’t smoke. He inhales deeply and recognizes it as pot from his own stash, the little thief. He laughs though, it’s not like he’s got anyone to blame but himself for the way these kids are. Castiel relaxes back against the stone railing and watches cars as they pass, doing his best to banish the sad movie clips that are now scrolling on repeat without permission through his head. He’s unsuccessful, probably in part because he’s sitting exactly where it all went down, and when he makes the mistake of closing his eyes for one brief moment he’s flooded, dragged under in a tempest of his most painful memory of all taking center stage. 

Because all of those other bad memories don’t hold a candle to _ this, _ to the pain of remembering the green-eyed boy who used to ride on his bicycle handlebars kissing him goodbye for the last time. Of _ Dean _touching his cheek and promising to come back as soon as he turned eighteen, as soon as his dad couldn’t tell him what to do anymore. Castiel had stood on this very stoop and watched the big black car pull away, Dean hanging out the window of the passenger’s seat to wave until his father jerked him back inside before they even reached the stop sign at the end of the block. Castiel had known then, felt it in his bones, that the love of his very short life would never actually be coming back.

And so he can’t quite figure out what to feel now, over twelve years later, when he opens his eyes to see Dean Winchester and his stupid green eyes drive up and park in front of the house next to his, the one with the _ For Sale _ sign that turned to _ Sold _ sometime in the last week. His dad isn’t in the car but his not-so-little-anymore brother is, and they’re close enough for Cas to be able to see Dean shoot Sam a quick glance before locking eyes with him across the yard. _ With him. _ Seeing Dean is so unexpected, so _ raw _and confusing that he’s not sure whether to suck down the world’s longest drag or quit on the spot and accuse Gabriel of mixing hallucinogens into the pot he’s selling. 

But Dean just steps out of the car like all is right with the world, leaning on the roof to nod in his direction, the driver’s door still hanging wide open and well into the street. 

“Heya, Cas. Or should I say, howdy, neighbor.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ["The Luck You Got" Spotify Playlist](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/0NZ4tiulC112GcOnFj7KjI?si=klJ5GBVpSxaRniBpU3rsSg)
> 
> Song list in order:  
Eastside - Benny Blanco  
Chasing the Light - Mat Kearney  
Runaways - The Killers  
Wild Heart - Bleachers  
Littlething - Jimmy Eat World  
Pompeii - Bastille  
Take Me Out - Atomic Tom  
New York - Snow Patrol  
I’m on Fire - Bruce Springsteen  
Heart and I - Robbie Williams  
Halls - Andrew McMahon and the Weekend  
Brilliant Disguise - Bruce Springsteen  
Midnight Sun - Phillip Phillips  
Shots- LMFAO  
The Resolution - Jack’s Mannequin  
To the Ends of the Earth - Lord Huron  
You Are Free- Jimmy Eat World  
Last Train Home - Ryan Star


	2. Chasing the Light

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter track:[Chasing the Light by Mat Kearney](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cCkKC7WMCbE)

_Familiar sounds and it takes me right back there_  
_Bridge Street and the beat in the summer air_  
_Was it easier to watch your feet_  
_and never deal with the hell that a young boy sees_  
_Where liquor runs thicker than blood,_  
_on your own when push came to shove_  
_Before we had these mouths to feed, with innocent dreams_  
_while you keep chasing the light_

Kindergarten. That was the first time Castiel remembers meeting Dean, though they must have played together at some point before that, all the kids on his street did. This was back when the busses still ran semi-reliably and the district still bothered to send them for kids who lived so close. It was also before his mother kicked his real father to the curb to start over with deadbeat extraordinaire Carver fucking Edlund, better known as the _very _average Chuck Shurley, sealing Castiel’s eventual fate. He remembers his mom the way she was back then, soft and warm and smiling, standing next to him at the bus stop and running hands through his unruly hair in a fruitless attempt to get it to lay flat. 

The memory stands out for being one of the few times he’d ridden the bus or gone to school at all without Gabriel by his side, but as well as he can recall Gabe had been feigning sick that day, despite it only being the first day of school, but that was Gabe. He remembers the smell and swish of his brand new bookbag, unworn shoes stiff and tight on his feet, the collar of his navy polo scratching at his neck. He remembers taking a seat in the middle of the bus, uncomfortable on his bottom where the padding had long worn away but still exciting because, _ no seatbelts. _

He’d pressed his face to the smeared, dirty glass and waved to his mother who waved back, chatting up one of their other neighbors who had a son Gabriel’s age. The doors to the bus had shut as it hissed and lurched forward, stopping again quite suddenly as a blue blur sprinted by just underneath Castiel’s window, banging on the side of the bus and hollering. The doors had opened again and a light brown head of hair appeared at the top of the steps, followed closely behind by bright green eyes, pale skin, freckles, and a cocky grin. 

Even at five Dean had been charming, winking at rows full of giggling little girls as he made his way down the aisle looking for an empty seat. Castiel had shrunk back into the leather, thinking warily that this was exactly the type of boy he’d learned to stay away from. Sure, the entire neighborhood played together but Castiel had always run on the edges of real friendship with anyone, too awkward to really connect with kids his own age unless Gabriel was there to shove him into something headfirst. Kids like the cocky green-eyed boy were just the kind to bully and poke fun at that awkwardness, and without Gabriel there to defend him Castiel worried he’d be out lunch money, maybe even end up with his head in a toilet. 

So when the green-eyed boy plopped down next to him with an even wider smile and a, “Hi! I’m Dean,” Castiel had all but disappeared down into the space between his seat and the one in front of it, brand new backpack held over his head like a shield. But Dean was nothing if not persistent and he’d hunkered down in the cramped space with him, holding his own ratty pack up so that it touched Castiel’s and made a sort of tent over the two of them. 

“This is neat,” Dean had exclaimed. “Like a fort! I like your eyes. They’re really blue. My little brother Sammy had blue eyes but then they turned hazel.” He’d continued matter-of-factly, and Castiel had lowered his hands, leaving his backpack to balance on his head, no longer armor but a _ fort. Wow. _ For the rest of the ride to school, they’d stayed in their little hiding spot and Dean had chattered on endlessly while Castiel didn’t say one word but smiled and nodded _ a lot _ because _ Dean was nice_. They’d discovered excitedly that they were heading to the same class with the same teacher and Castiel _ hoped _Dean might want to sit next to him there or maybe even at lunch. It felt nice to have a friend besides Gabriel. 

But when it came time to exit the bus, Castiel noticed something about Dean that made him worry. 

“Dean,” he whispered, speaking out loud for the first time since they’d met, “Your pants!” Dean had looked down and back up sadly, touching his hole-strewn and faded jeans with some obvious shame. Swept up by the rush of other kids pushing their way off, they clamored down the bus steps and out onto the sidewalk just next to the school, Castiel grabbing Dean’s sleeve and side-stepping them out of the fray so a teacher wouldn’t _ see him _.

“Yea, uh… my dad says it’s stupid for a public school to have a… whatsit called? Oh, a _ yoo-ni-fom_.” He scratched at the back of his neck as he sounded the word out carefully, missing an r at the end. “Garth’s mom dries his laundry in their backyard… I borrowed a shirt without askin’ but his pants are too small for me.” Dean’s cheeks flushed a light scarlet, and Castiel’s worry drove deeper. 

“Dean, they won’ let you stay in class with me,” he whispered. Castiel _ wanted _ Dean to stay in class. How was he going to keep Dean as a friend if he got sent home? Or _ worse, _sent to the room in the office where they made bad kids go to class alone if they didn’t come dressed right, the room they’d made sure to point out when his mom had brought him to take the new Kindergarteners tour. To Castiel, that sounded like a fate worse than death. He knew what he had to do. Dropping to his knees on the sidewalk, he unzipped his bag and pulled out a spare pair of khakis, handing them up to Dean. “My mom sends these, jus’ in case I have a’ accident,” he mumbled.

Blinking in surprise, Dean accepted them, but not before sizing Castiel up. “You’re taller’n Garth,” he’d observed hopefully. “Thanks, uh... “

“Castiel,” he’d whispered, as he got back to his feet, shrugging his pack back on. 

“Thanks, Cas,” Dean had replied, clapping him on the shoulder the way Castiel’s seen adult men do sometimes and heading towards the front doors. “I’m gonna go to the bathroom. Save me a seat next to you, okay?” 

“Okay,” Castiel answered softly, though Dean was too far away to hear him. 

They’d been inseparable ever since. 

Despite spending damn near all day every day in each other’s pockets, no one had really expected their friendship to last, different as they were. But Dean and _ Cas, _ as he now insisted on being called by _ everyone_, effortlessly proved their doubters wrong and soon enough, the entire neighborhood seemed to accept them as a single entity. That was all well and good while they were kids; running wild on hot summer days with every other house-banned child, doing homework side by side at Cas’ mom’s kitchen table, pooling their spare change from picking up odd jobs like plunging old Mrs. Miller’s toilet or feeding Garth’s parents’ five cats while they were out of town to save up and buy treats. 

But everything changed when they were sixteen and old enough to attend the school’s fall homecoming dance for the first time. 

Dean had become particularly irritated that Castiel was refusing to even _ consider _ going to the dance, but Cas had continued to shrug him off every time he brought it up. The truth was, he had less than zero interest in watching the girls in their class buzz around Dean like flies to sugar water while Dean flirted back and entertained as many as possible. Meanwhile, Castiel would be stuck drinking watered-down fruit punch at a table by himself. Or worse, with Garth talking his ear off, probably through that sock puppet he thinks is a passable ventriloquist’s dummy. _ No thank you. _

For the record, Castiel didn’t _ blame _ Dean, not for wanting to go to the dance or for flirting with anything that breathed and wore a skirt; he was popular and that was what popular boys _ did. _ It wasn’t like he and Dean had to do _ everything _ together, although they pretty much did anyway. If Dean really wanted to go he certainly didn’t need Cas’ company to make that happen. They saw each other from sunup to sundown most days, to the point of eating breakfast side by side before walking to school and ending with dinner at one house or another most nights. Dean had even dragged him along to football tryouts, though no one had been more shocked than he was when Castiel managed to kick a field goal on the first try. Between school, practice, games, and outings with the team, it wasn’t like he and Dean were lacking _ at all _in time to spend in each other’s presence.

And all that was _ fine. _

What wasn’t fine was that Cas had been feeling some type of way about Dean for quite a while, a way that he knew perfectly well needed to be kept a secret if he had any hope of remaining friends with Dean and not being tortured into eternity by his class, his teammates, and odds are, by Dean himself. And he could do it, he _ had _ to do it. Castiel cherished and loved Dean more than enough to stuff his inappropriate feelings and desires deep, deep down in favor of nights on the couch watching those ridiculous westerns Dean likes so much, their bodies three feet apart and a bowl of popcorn between them. But it was one thing to hang out with Dean knowing he could never have him. It was quite another to be forced to stand by and watch Dean cycle through flirting, dancing with, and kissing all the girls in their class like disposable napkins. _ Nooo, thank you. _He’d rather stay home and listen to his parents scream at each other through his closed door, and he’d made sure to inform a shocked Dean of exactly that. 

But Dean, for whatever reason, can’t seem to let it go. He’s nagged and pushed and gotten into Castiel’s space during _ every _ spare moment they’ve had in the week leading up to the dance, becoming increasingly frustrating and physical while Castiel refuses to relent _ or _explain, because what would he even say? Finally, Castiel snaps. 

They’re in Dean’s room when it happens, Castiel on the floor with his back against the bed and Dean lying across it on his stomach in _ just _such a way that he can blow air or stick a wet finger into Castiel’s ear obnoxiously each time he refuses to discuss what Dean’s dubbed, “The Homecoming Situation”. They’re supposed to be studying for a biology test the next day but despite the book open in his lap, Castiel hasn’t absorbed one single word. 

When Dean escalates from blowing into his face and wet-willying him to _ flicking _ the inside of his ear, Castiel slams his book shut and tosses it halfway across the room. He clenches his fists at his sides and growls. “I don’t _ want _ to go because the only _ person _I want to be there with is not at all interested in being with me that way,” he huffs, crossing his arms across his chest and refusing to turn and look at Dean. He stares fastidiously into the darkness outside Dean’s window instead. The stunned silence he gets in response to his outburst is difficult enough, the inevitable forthcoming questions already making him regret his choice to open his mouth at all.

“I didn’t know you liked anyone,” Dean says slowly. “I thought you like, weren’t interested in people that way.” And yes, Castiel _ has _ told Dean many times that he doesn’t have any interest in dating or hooking up with any of their classmates, he just neglected to leave out one _ tiny _piece of information. 

“I don’t,” he says stonily, still refusing to turn around. “I’m not. It’s just _ one _person, and I didn’t tell you because I know how you are.” But Dean isn’t put off that easily, sliding down off of the bed in a heap of muscled limbs that have no business on a teenager and scooting over until he’s facing Castiel on the floor. 

“Oh, you’re gonna tell me, buddy. Cas, look at me.” With some reluctance and a whole lot of attitude, Castiel rolls his eyes in a way that involves his entire body, because he knows it annoys the piss out of Dean. Strangely though, Dean doesn’t react. Instead, he just plants his hands on his knees and stares Castiel down, green eyes serious and bright. “What if I told you that I like someone too? And I guess I thought they didn’t feel the same way, but now I’m starting to wonder.” 

Castiel snorts and averts his eyes again. “Who? Lisa? Bela? That’s not much of a share, Dean, you’re not exactly taking a risk by asking out any girl in our school. I’ve yet to meet one who wouldn’t fall all over herself just to be seen with you.” But Dean shakes his head and scoots closer, and Castiel can’t help but think his expression looks kind of strange. If he didn’t know any better, he’d say that Dean is nervous. He licks his plush pink lips before speaking again, and Castiel’s gaze is drawn to the little indents in the bottom one from where he keeps pulling it between his teeth.

“What if… I told you it isn’t a girl?” Castiel’s head snaps up and his eyes narrow as he can’t help but suspect that Dean is fucking with him. Boys don’t _ talk _about kissing other boys, not at their school, not in their neighborhood, and definitely not in the redneck countryside that surrounds the city. Dean fidgets with his fingers for a moment before heaving a frustrated sigh. “Aw hell, maybe I should just…” 

And then he’s leaning forward and pressing his lips against Castiel’s, soft and sweet and careful. The very tips of his fingers grace the edge of Cas’ jaw, and he’s suddenly incredibly sure that he’s dreaming. He’s dreaming, and he’s going to wake up any second because there’s no way that high school sophomore quarterback _ Dean_, ladies man, he who fantasizes about muscle cars and boobs and is the most positively _ rugged _ boy Cas has ever laid eyes on is actually kissing him. But a quick flutter of his eyelids confirms that _ yes he is, _and though he pulls back fairly quickly, the lingering taste of the strawberry Bubble Yum he’d been chewing lingers on Castiel’s lips, proving it wasn’t a hallucination or dream after all. 

Dean’s cheeks are stained fully red now, with embarrassment or shame, fear or arousal, Castiel has no idea but he _ hopes, _God he hopes for the last one. 

“Dean,” he says in pure astonishment, and it’s Dean’s turn to avert his eyes as he occupies himself with gathering up Castiel’s discarded book, leafing through it under the pretense of actually caring about studying which they both know is bullshit.

“It’s fine, Cas,” he mutters. “We can just forget about it. I shouldn’t have—” But before Dean can talk himself into a self-loathing frenzy like he’s so prone to doing, Castiel launches himself across the room and tackles him down, pinning his friend to threadbare carpet and smushing their lips together again. It’s not nearly as soft as Dean’s had been and as it’s Cas’ first time he’s understandably lacking in both finesse and skill, but Dean doesn’t seem to mind, grabbing his head and kissing back fiercely. They keep on like that for a few minutes until they’re worked up and damn near gasping into each other’s mouths and Castiel sits back on his heels to catch his breath. Dean wiggles out from under him, sitting up cross-legged and staring in awe. Castiel watches as he touches his fingers to his reddened lips before looking back up at him like he’s just as unsure this is real, but equally hopeful. 

“So what now?” Dean asks, and that is a _ good question. _

But nothing really changes, not in the ways that matter. They keep the shift in their relationship a secret but Dean stops flirting with the girls in his classes and neither of them bothers to even pretend they care about friendships outside of each other anymore. They both _ get _the other in ways that most kids their age can’t even grasp, especially when it came to family dynamics, and while that isn’t anything new, it becomes increasingly important. Because by the time they’d started to find comfort in each other, both of their households were well on their way to ruin. Castiel’s mother had been slipping more and more into the grip of addiction and mental illness, and his step-father was useless even before he left them. They did bring in money at least, but Cas and Gabe were acting as caretakers for their much younger siblings long before it ever became official. 

To a lesser extent (since he only had Sam to look out for), the same went for Dean. His father would take off for weeks at a time doing God knows what and when he _ was _ home he’d be at the bar, stumbling home drunk and angry in the middle of the night only to complain that Dean hadn’t kept the fridge stocked. In fact, John Winchester was the only man Castiel had ever known who could give Chuck Shurley a run for his money when it came to alcoholism. While their fathers’ drinking undoubtedly made both Dean and Cas’ lives harder, the tentative friendship that spawned between the two men as a result of sitting side by side at the Alibi may actually have done the opposite. All those nights drinking and then wandering home together after the owner kicked them out after last call _ might _have been the only thing that kept John Winchester from looking too closely at the relationship between his oldest son and one of Chuck’s boys. That, or the booze. Regardless, if Castiel had a nickel for every time he’d found Chuck face down in a pile of his own sick, he wouldn’t have ever had to sell his ass to make ends meet when the dude finally up and left.

Regardless, when John Winchester was gone (and when he was there, for that matter) Dean took care of his younger brother Sam, and despite the amount of time he spent with Castiel he never put their relationship ahead of his brother. Sam always came first in Dean’s eyes, and Castiel admired that. Perhaps Dean’s example was why it was so easy for him to fall into his own role as_ in loco parentis. _

It was a harder life than any teenager deserved for both of them. But at night, after Sam had been sent off to bed and Castiel had fed and tucked his own siblings in or left them under Gabe’s watchful eye, he escaped over to Dean’s house and they would lock themselves in his room to kiss and hold each other in the tender ways neither of them received from anyone else. In retrospect, Sam probably knew. Gabe _ definitely _knew, and several of their friends must have suspected. But aside from Mr. Adler, no one outed them or treated them any differently, and that alone seemed like a minor miracle, considering. 

It was the best year of Castiel’s life and what he affectionately thinks of now as the calm before the storm. Neither he nor Dean had any idea that in only a year’s time Castiel’s mother would be dead, his father disappeared, and Dean would have left for good, never to be seen or heard from again.

_ Until now, anyway. _

***

Castiel stands so he can see better and squints against the bright, mid-morning sun, hot for only the beginning of May. He’s too stunned to speak or even acknowledge Dean’s greeting, and he wonders exactly how much brain damage a person would have to have for their hallucinations to start interacting with the physical world. Because he definitely just saw a car swerve around where Dean and his open door are edging into the thruway of the street, and _ what are the odds Dean would be driving the exact same car his father drove? Have to be hovering somewhere near zero, definitely a tick in the hallucination category. _

But now Dean is walking around that big black car and over to the realtor’s _ SOLD _ sign to pull it out of the ground. Castiel blinks furiously and yet he’s _ still _there when he stops. Then there’s the matter of Dean’s younger brother. Castiel always liked Sam well enough, but if he were going to invent some figment of his imagination to keep him company, he can’t imagine his brain would also materialize a built-in cockblock to go with it. Or maybe it would, he’s always been a little masochistic and has essentially come to terms with the fact that self-hate is a valid lifestyle choice. 

If this _ is _ really Dean, the years have been good to him. The new muscle he’d worked his ass off for playing football and weightlifting as a teen has _ nothing _on the thick biceps and flexing traps he’s sporting now, and his skin is golden and healthy, no longer pale and in stark contrast with his freckles. If Dean was beautiful as a teen, he’s magnificent now, and Castiel feels all sorts of inadequate. He knows he’s filled out somewhat himself, especially in the shoulders and thighs, and he’s still boasting the trim waist and sharp hip bones Dean was always fond of running his fingers over, but that’s mostly from years of having not quite enough to go around, nothing he worked for on purpose. He wonders what Dean must see to look at him now, his dark hair a tangled mess, two-day thick stubble on his chin, his worn t-shirt full of holes and his jeans a size too big, slipping down off of his hips. Between all that, his bare feet, and the joint in his hand, the whole picture must look a hot mess to someone like Dean. 

And yet, Dean’s back in _ his _neighborhood apparently moving into the house next door as if whatever the years between them have done to him, he still belongs here. Castiel finally makes a decision on the joint dilemma, lighting up the fizzled out cherry anew and taking a long hit. He holds it in his lungs for as long as he can stand, blowing it out smoothly as Dean finishes moving the sign to where the garbage collectors can take it and looks back up at him expectantly. Sam is still sitting in the damn car staring at something in his lap, and Castiel abruptly finds the entire situation ludicrous.

He laughs. 

He laughs so hard he has to sit down on the stoop and wipe tears from his eyes because what the fuck does probably-not-imaginary Dean even expect him to say?! But Dean just stands there with an amused smile on his face, one hand resting on the squat stone wall separating the less than ten feet of space between their houses. _ Their houses. _That thought sets Castiel off anew, and pretty soon he’s slumped against the railing of his stoop, gasping to control his breathing. He stares back at Dean and can’t help but smile, though he still has no idea where to go from here. Fortunately, it’s at that moment when Sam finally chooses to exit the car, rummaging in the back for a few bags and hauling them over his shoulder. He stops next to Dean and waves to Castiel.

“Hey Cas, long time.” Castiel nods and gives him a two-fingered wave. Sam glances at Dean somewhat worriedly but holds up a thick book and gestures to it. “I’m gonna head in, get settled. Still got a lot of prep for tomorrow.” Dean nods but doesn’t take his eyes off of Cas. Sam’s face morphs into a different concerned expression but he doesn’t push, waving again across the tiny yard before turning to make his way up to the house. “Nice to see you again, Cas.” There’s a brief silence save for Sam’s footfalls on their own steps while he makes his way inside.

“He’s a lawyer now,” Dean explains when Sam’s out of sight. “Got some fancy job with a criminal defense firm downtown.” 

Castiel’s heart clenches in his chest which is _ ridiculous _ because he should have absolutely zero expectations from this interaction, and _ yet… _ “So, is that why you’re back? Sam’s job?” Dean’s mouth drops open a little when Castiel finally speaks, though to his credit he recovers quickly and licks his lips to cover it. Castiel smirks a little internally at the sight; Dean may have a model’s body but Cas _ knows _ what his voice sounds like, and Dean’s never heard him without the squeaky awkwardness of puberty clinging to it. He waits patiently for an answer and when Dean finally seems to process the question it’s his turn to laugh, though Castiel has no idea what’s funny. Dean shakes his head _ no _and cautiously makes his way closer until he’s leaning on the railing at the bottom of Cas’ stairs and staring up. It’s a good look on him. 

“Actually, he’s the one who followed me for a change. I, uh, I would have been back sooner, but my dad… he got sick. And then Sam was in college and then law school, and pretty soon we realized Dad wasn’t gonna make it.” He fiddles with the horned tribal-looking amulet still tied around his neck that Sam had given to him one Christmas when he was maybe ten years old, and suddenly Castiel is struck by how much Dean _ hasn’t _changed. He takes another stunned drag from the joint in his hand and then offers it to Dean who holds up a hand. “Raincheck?” His tone and his eyes are hopeful. “I’ve actually gotta go piss in a cup in a few. I trained as a firefighter and a paramedic a few years back, got all my certs transferred and I’m starting with the City in a few days.” 

Castiel regards him carefully, intently, but with barely-veiled amusement. “How noble,” he replies. “I would have expected nothing less from you.” Dean blushes a little and _ fucking hell, _Castiel’s rapidly turning back into a sixteen-year-old boy. He stands and brushes his ass off, stubbing the roach out in the first of three ashtrays sitting on the cement porch wall. “I have to get going to work myself, actually.” Castiel leaves out the part where he’s definitely going to take a nap first, just in case Dean thinks he’s getting blown off, but he’s still not one hundred percent sold that this entire interaction isn’t an exhaustion-induced hallucination.

Dean’s brow furrows. “You’re going to work high?” 

Castiel bites back a smile. “I work in the gardening center at Lowe’s. I’m pretty sure being high is a prerequisite for hiring.” He doesn’t mention his _ other _job, for which being high is most definitely expected if not required, but his words return Dean’s wide smile to his face, and it doesn’t disappear even when Castiel moves inside the house without saying goodbye. He lets the screen door close first and then the heavy wooden door behind it so that his eyes can linger on the man still standing at the bottom of his stairs. 

Perhaps good things do happen after all.


	3. Runaways

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter track:[Runaways by The Killers](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TMbyWSGYUgc)

_You gotta know that this is real, baby, why you wanna fight it?_  
_It's the one thing you can choose._  
_Let's take a chance, baby we can't lose_  
_yea, we're all just runaways_  
_I knew it when I met you, I'm not gonna let you run away._  
_I knew that when I held you, I wasn't lettin' go._

Despite what he’d said to Dean, Cas doesn’t mind his job in the gardening center. It might be corporate but at least it’s outside (mostly) and he gets to work with his hands as much as he’s expected to interact with customers. And although he _can _disappear behind the building itself to sneak a smoke if the mood strikes him, he’s usually content to just shove his hands in some soil instead. Unfortunately, even with his and Gabe’s combined income, this job doesn’t exactly pay all the bills. No jobs within walking or bicycling distance to his home do, and it’s not a small reason why no one in his neighborhood ever seems to leave. 

_ Except for Dean. Dean left, and he came back. _

When Castiel had locked up to go work that afternoon the car had still been there and Dean had waved to him from his own front porch, apparently not a figment of his overtired imagination after all. The fact that Dean actually moved _back_ is quite the novelty in and of itself, but the possibility that he might also be entirely unfazed by Castiel being an unaccomplished hot mess is something else entirely. For once, Castiel allows his thoughts to linger on Dean and what his return _might _mean for him as he carefully waters each individual annual on the sale table while still adamantly refusing to let himself float too deeply into dreamland. 

_ Surely Dean is just letting nostalgia get the best of him,_ he thinks to himself. Once the air clears and he has an untainted picture of what he’s dealing with, he won’t actually _want_ Castiel, not the way he is today, and definitely not with all his obligations and baggage. They had something once, that’s true, but neither of them are the same teenagers they once were, least of all Castiel. And alright, Dean might be able to forgive the casual drug use, the lack of meaningful work, the fact that he’s tied intrinsically to the same house in the same city he grew up in for at _ least _ four more years until his youngest siblings turn eighteen—that’s all well and good and potentially forgivable. But there’s _no _way Dean will be able to get past the other things Castiel started doing to survive, and kept doing because it was the easiest way to put food on the table, clothes on his siblings' backs, medicine, heat, lights… 

_ Excuses. Every damn excuse in the book. _Castiel’s got ‘em all, not that it’s likely to matter to Dean.

He sighs and makes his way over to the industrial sink that’s installed at the back of the gardening center. He shoves his watering can in under the tap and lets the water run wide until it’s full again. Lugging it back to the sale table, he gets down on his knees and crawls underneath the long stretch where they keep certain stores of sun-delicate plants hidden, watering the ones that need it, checking soil quality, talking to some of them quietly. As he does, his mind wanders traitorously back to Dean’s charming smile and then immediately shifts to moping about the fact that once Dean finds out the truth about him, he’ll likely never see that smile directed his way again. 

Castiel drops his head onto his hands and groans into the dirty cement floor, but after a few deep breaths of damp, earthy air, his mind quiets and his resolve strengthens. Best not to dwell on what he and Dean _could _have together, not even in his own mind. He shuffles back out from under the table and into the sun, mostly because there’s a pair of jeans and heavy work boots standing next to where his ass is sticking out and ignoring customers is frowned upon, or so he’s been told once or… four hundred times. He pushes up to kneel next to the table, dusting his hands off and wiping them on his jeans for good measure before looking up and _almost _yelping in surprise when it’s Dean who’s towering over him. 

He blinks furiously as his eyes water before adjusting to the light from where they’d been dilated in the darkness under the table. When his vision is finally clear, he rocks back on his heels to stand up and squint at Dean in confusion. Dean looks a little sheepish but he doesn’t so much as move an inch away from Cas, leaving them a scarce breath apart when he rises to his full height. Back when they were teenagers Castiel had been half a foot shorter than Dean at least, but now they’re less than two inches from being the same height and Castiel can’t help but think of how well they’d fit together in other ways.

_ Indulging in those fantasies will only make things more painful later, _he reminds himself, clearing his throat as he steps away to grab the watering hose and continue spraying the plants. 

“Are you stalking me, Dean?” Cas keeps his tone playful as he makes his way down the row of petunias because, despite the inevitable, he’s not about to be an ass to the only real friend he’s ever had, family excluded. Dean follows him on the opposite side of the table, letting his fingers drift softly over various flower petals as he goes. Once again, Castiel finds himself inappropriately distracted, though, in his defense, Dean has very beautiful hands, calloused from hard work yet still slender and delicate, worming their way into Cas’ head and giving him all sorts of ideas. _ Fuck. _ Castiel closes his eyes. _ Yes, that’s exactly what he’d like to do with those hands. _

“Nah,” Dean replies, apparently unaware of Castiel’s inner turmoil. “If I was stalking you I’d just wait by my window in the dark with some binoculars. Watch you get undressed.” He shoots Castiel a grin and in response, his knees go completely weak because apparently, he’s the female lead in a black and white movie from the ’30s. _Fantastic._ He shoots Dean a look but can’t quite hold back the little smirk that nudges the corner of his mouth up on one side. As he waters his way down the row, Dean finds a cactus on the clearance shelving and pokes at it until he hurts himself, yanking his hand back and sticking a finger in his mouth like he’s five. God help him, Castiel can’t look away. He plays it off as annoyance, probably not very convincingly.

“So what are you doing here, then?” 

Dean gestures around vaguely. “Just, you know. Needed a few things for the house. Cleaning supplies. Lightbulbs. One of the toilets needs fixing.” Castiel raises his eyebrows.

“You won’t find any of those things in the gardening center,” he points out, and Dean purses his lips.

He makes his way closer to Castiel, rounding the end of the table and coming up beside him with one hand stopping _just _shy of touching his waist. He takes the hose from Castiel’s hand and places it on the table, hooking a finger into his belt loop and leaving it there, something they used to do when they were in public and craving contact but not wanting to draw too much attention to themselves. The close proximity of Dean and his stupid beautiful fingers makes Castiel’s breath hitch and from the little smile that flits across Dean’s face, he notices. “Let me take you out after work, Cas. Please? I know it’s been a while. And maybe things aren’t the same, maybe it’s dumb to try and fall in where we left off, but I never stopped missing you. I want to get to know you again, want you to know me.” 

Dean’s words hit a little too close to home and Castiel tugs away, leaving Dean’s hand frozen in mid-air and his face disappointed. “You never called,” he says, and the words come out a touch more accusing than he meant for them to. “You never wrote or…” He trails off, turning abruptly to face one of the other display tables that Dean isn’t currently leaning against so distractingly. He pretends to busy himself with re-arranging flowers that are already in perfect rows and keeps his eyes down. Despite his body language, Dean doesn’t take the hint, drifting cautiously into his peripheral vision while scratching the back of his neck, looking ashamed.

“I know, Cas,” he says plainly. “I don’t have an excuse for that, I just… it was too hard. I didn’t know what to say at first. I missed you, thought about hopping in the car and driving straight back here all the damn time. I should have. But then after a while, it seemed like too much time had passed and I figured you must have moved on.” In the corner of his vision, Castiel can see Dean watching but resolutely refuses to meet his eyes. He fluffs the leaves of the geraniums in front of him instead before carefully replying in the form of a question.

“How do you know that I haven’t?” 

Dean lets out a little noise and picks at the table, making Castiel feel relieved that he’s not the only one feeling anxious. “I kinda asked around when me and Sam came to check out the house last week. Everyone said… Look, it doesn’t matter. Cas,” he says, suddenly urgent, closing fingers around Castiel’s wrist and pulling gently. In what he knows is a fatal mistake, Castiel lets himself be turned and takes in the devastated look on Dean’s face. He raises his eyebrows but remains silent. Dean licks his lips. “I get that I don’t deserve it, but I was a dumb kid when we left, I didn’t know any better. If I could go back and change it, I would. Just give me a chance. Let me buy you a burger and a beer.”

Dean is _so _earnest and sweet that it breaks Castiel’s heart. He’d love nothing more than to dump his siblings on Gabriel for once and actually spend a night doing something with someone who isn’t a co-worker or a family member or a customer. But Dean doesn’t _know, _and it wouldn’t be right. He takes a deep breath and lets it out, allowing himself another moment to catalog the details of Dean’s face for his memories and fantasies later, sure that this will be the last he’ll ever be allowed to get this close. He looks around for the coworker that’s assigned to this area with him and spots him by the registers, fucking off in his own particular way.

“Theo,” he calls out. “I’m taking fifteen.” Theo salutes lazily like he couldn’t care less and goes back to scrolling his phone, barely looking up. Cas inclines his head for Dean to follow and sets off through the aisles of mulch and pavers towards the back gate. He flicks the latch and holds it open for Dean, slipping through behind him before quickly regaining the lead to guide them both around the back of the building. Just around the corner there’s a shady little nook Cas is fond of hiding out in, and he slips inside with Dean close on his heels. Once the two of them are safely tucked away in the shade he pulls out a new joint that’s been stuffed into a half-full pack of regular cigarettes and lights it up. After a moment or two, as the drug floods his system and boosts his confidence with a dose of calm, he looks up once more at Dean. 

“I’m a prostitute,” he says, and just like that, it’s out there, hanging between them for Dean to do with what he will. Castiel’s calm, he’s clear, and his steady eye contact leaves no room for misinterpretation. Dean’s eyes widen just a little, but a brief flurry of blinking is the only other indication that he’s even heard.

“Oh,” is all he says. 

Castiel swallows and drops his eyes to where his converse are scuffing the gravel beneath his feet. The ratty sole is still peeling away since Dean’s unexpected arrival shot the rest of Castiel’s to-do list from earlier to complete shit. He toes at it with his other shoe and steadily avoids looking at Dean. He’s not ashamed of what he does, not by a long shot, but it also doesn’t feel _good _to be rejected because of it and he’s not looking forward to hearing whatever Dean has to say next, so he preempts him. 

“You don’t need to say anything. I’m not looking for my Edward Lewis, it’s just a job and I need the money. It’s _good _money,” he insists for some reason, irritated that he even feels the need to defend himself. “The kids—my brothers and sisters, that is—Child Protective Services threatened us from the very beginning, said they knew Gabe and I weren’t fit to take care of them. Both then and now, I do what I have to do to keep us all together and to give them decent lives.” He dares to raise his eyes to Dean’s face once more, expecting to see pity or disgust but shockingly, there’s only calm understanding.

Dean steps towards him and turns, leaning so that his back is against the wall next to Castiel. He stares off into the distance and it’s silent for a moment before he speaks, though what comes out of his mouth is honestly the last thing Castiel expects to hear. 

“I get it,” he says finally. “I’ve been there. After Dad moved us away he still took off, sometimes for weeks on end. And I didn’t have you, I didn’t have neighbors like we had here that helped to keep us fed when the money ran out. Dad dragged us all around the country for _years_, Cas, living out of shitty motel after shitty motel and in every town, it was the same. Even when he stayed and managed to get a temporary gig he’d blow most of the money on whiskey anyway. I didn’t have much of a choice, not when Sam was hungry and going through shoe sizes like toilet paper. It was easy to pick up dudes that would shell out $20 for a handjob or whatever.” 

Castiel doesn’t even try to hide his shock, turning so that he’s facing Dean with his shoulder pressed against the wall. He reaches out to touch his hand but thinks better of it, not positive Dean would appreciate the gesture at this very moment. “It was really hard,” he continues. “Wasn’t something I ever enjoyed, but it kept me and Sam in Kraft dinners and cereal. Necessities.” He shrugs. 

Castiel regards him carefully. “I don’t dislike it, or I would have quit,” he admits, testing the waters, and Dean shrugs again, turning his head so that their eyes finally meet.

“Cas, I didn’t come here to tell you how to live your life. I’ve always just wanted you to be happy. Are you safe?” 

Castiel nods, face serious. “Always.” 

Dean smiles, and to Castiel’s surprise his hand drifts over, seeking out his own where it dangles near his hip. He twists their pinky fingers together and knocks their hands against the brick. He’s still staring and Castiel’s still staring back. 

“So, dinner?” Still recovering from the shock of Dean not walking away on the spot, Castiel somehow manages a nod. 

“If you’re sure that my occupation isn’t a dealbreaker,” he says carefully and Dean drops his pinky to thread their fingers together properly.

“Cas,” he replies, “Only one damn thing I’ve ever been sure of in my life, and that’s that it’s better with you in it.” And then he’s leaning forward, capturing Castiel’s bottom lip between his own, pulling back just enough to dip in again at a new angle. It’s soft and sweet and so reminiscent of their first kiss all those years ago that Castiel can actually feel his walls crumbling inside his head. His eyes flutter closed; he hasn’t kissed anyone in _years_ and any touch he _has _had… well, it’s not been like this. After he pulls away, Dean drops his head back onto the brick and sighs. “Been too damn long,” he murmurs. “All these years I thought I must’ve been exaggerating in my own head how it felt to kiss you, but here you are. C’mon Cas,” he pleads. “Come out with me. Let me feed you and kiss you until we both forget how dumb I was to stay away for so long.” He fingers the edge of Cas’ Lowe’s-blue uniform vest and smirks. “You can’t wear such a sexy outfit and not expect me to hit on you.” 

That gets a laugh out of Castiel, though he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t feeling a little emotional over this whole development. Who would have guessed Dean really wouldn’t care about the things he does to make money? That he would _understand_ and _relate _from personal experience. It’s been so fucking long since anyone’s seen him as a human, a _ person, _since anyone’s _cared _what _he _might want that it all feels foreign and overwhelming, but it’s addictive and enticing all the same. Castiel wants more, and while he’s smart enough to recognize that letting Dean in is a waterfall he’s about to row himself straight over with no regard for the rocks at the bottom, he can’t bring himself to care. It’s been over a decade since he’s taken something for himself, and like fuck he’s going to pass up this apparent second chance with Dean. 

“Alright,” he replies, far more calmly than he feels. “I believe I’d enjoy that very much.” 

As they wander back towards the Gardening Center, shoulders bumping and Castiel unable to stop smiling like an idiot, Dean reaches over and flicks the plastic tag pinned to Cas’ vest. “So why does your nametag say ‘Steve’?” Dean asks amiably. 

Castiel snorts and rolls his eyes. “Got tired of every Tom, Dick, and Harry commenting on how ‘Castiel,’ is ‘quite the mouthful’,” he intones, fingers making quotation signs in the air. Dean purses his lips and looks over at him like he’s nuts. “I know, ridiculous,” Castiel says, grinning wider. “Hey, I told you things have been rough.” Dean laughs, tipping his face up towards the late afternoon sun, and Castiel has to wonder if he’s died and gone to Heaven. 

***

Their scrappy little city and the surrounding fields and farmland that make up the rest of the county are tucked into a valley that’s completely surrounded by the edges of the Appalachian Mountains. A major river flows down from coal country north of them and widens significantly as it traverses the region, continuing all the way down into Philadelphia where it joins the Delaware River and eventually dumps into the Atlantic Ocean. Castiel leans on the stone wall of the outlook where he and Dean are currently parked, watching the river cut a swath around the city and wind its way off into the larger mountains to the north. From way up here in their little cutout in the mountainside, the city looks serene, almost pretty, the complete opposite of what Castiel knows to be true when you’re down there all up close and personal. 

The sun’s almost completely disappeared behind them and the lights are starting to come up, adding to the illusion that they’re somewhere exciting, someplace special. Up here you can’t see the dirt and blood in the streets, the people crammed ten to a tiny apartment because there’s no other option, the violence and fear, the desperation. The trees and brush lining the slope of the mountain rustle softly in the warm evening breeze, but Castiel shivers.

_ Why would Dean ever come back here? _

“Pagoda hasn’t changed,” Dean observes, appearing at his side as he returns from finding a trash can to dump the remnants of their burgers. Castiel grunts in acknowledgment, casting a sidelong glance up at the building he barely notices anymore, considering it’s been a constant background fixture in the hills that are usually far above his head. The Pagoda, a Japanese style building with stand-out red shingles that sits at the edge of the outlook is the only thing this city has to brag about. Castiel’s pretty sure it was in a movie within the last ten years or so, not that he can afford to go to the movie theater. As they stand there watching, the lights that edge the seven tiered roofs come on, casting Dean’s profile in a bright red glow. He makes a surprised noise and stares. “I stand corrected,” he murmurs.

“There’s a cafe, too,” Castiel adds, tearing his gaze away from Dean and back out over the swiftly darkening valley. “A lot has changed, even if it looks the same on the surface.” Dean turns and sits on the low stone wall so that he’s facing him, his back to the view. 

“Guess I’m hoping that’s not a hint,” he says lightly, stuffing his hands into his jacket pockets. A chuckle slips out of Castiel’s mouth and he nudges Dean’s knees open to knock one of his own between them. 

“No,” he replies, the smile still lingering on his face, and Dean looks relieved. “I suppose it’s just hard for me to wrap my head around why you’re even here at all, or what exactly about who I am now could possibly interest you. I’m… you haven’t even been back a day, Dean. I’m a mess. I can only imagine that when you inevitably discover that for yourself, you’ll realize it’s too much, that I’m not worth it.” His tone is forced casual but his eyes evade Dean’s and focus on the buildings, the lights, _anything _beyond, _ anything _but those green pools that have always seen right through him. 

But Dean just picks up his hand and kisses his knuckles before moving his other hand to Castiel’s hip and shaking him gently until he looks down. “Why don’t you let me decide that for myself, huh?” Castiel rolls his eyes but Dean tugs on his hand. “I’m serious, Cas. Sit down, lay it on me. Just get it out there, whatever it is you think is gonna send me running for the hills, now’s your chance.” 

Castiel gives him the side-eye. “The eternal dilemma of the broken soul,” he sighs. “The last thing I want is for you to run. You haven’t been back in town twenty-four hours and yet I can’t remember the last time I smiled this much.” Dean tugs again, more insistently this time and Castiel sits reluctantly. Dean laces their fingers together where their hands rest between their thighs and _oh, hell. That’s sort of worth it, isn’t it? _ He clears his throat. “The prostitution we already discussed,” he begins, as if he’s going to whip out a powerpoint and present it to the board. _ What is even happening? _

Dean nods. “And I’d be hypocritical as fuck to judge you for that,” he reminds him, and Castiel can’t say he doesn’t appreciate Dean’s candidness about his own history. They’re definitely coming back to that later, but for now…

“Seems reasonable to assume at this point that you don’t mind my marijuana usage,” he says, and Dean grins. 

“Trust me, I’ll happily smoke one with you as soon as my probationary period is up at work. Cool?” It’s absolutely ridiculous how much Dean simply existing nearby makes him want to smile, so much so that Cas is starting to feel a little embarrassed over his somewhat sore cheeks, and yet he can’t stop. 

“Alright,” he agrees. “But that isn’t all. Sometimes I use other drugs,” he admits. “It makes my nights go more smoothly.” 

The smile disappears from Dean’s face and is replaced by a mask of concern. “Before I say anything else, I just want you to know that I’m not judging you. I wouldn’t do that, and I get why you do it, but the hard shit is dangerous, Cas. I wish I could show you every user I’ve picked up in an ambulance a whisper away from not coming back _ever,_ no matter what reversal agents I pump into their veins.”

“I _ know _the risks,” Castiel snaps, pulling his hand away. “Don’t patronize me, Dean.” 

“I wouldn’t,” Dean replies quickly, his hand reaching out to take Castiel’s again and _fuck. How is he so relentlessly kind? _ Cas’ eyes prick with tears but he fights them back hard because being honest is one thing, being _vulnerable_ is another, and he’s just not ready for Dean to see him like that yet. It’s impossible to believe that Dean is still exactly who he was twelve years ago, and in fact, might even be _more_ wonderful. Time and stress and age and life, all of it just melts away when he looks into Dean’s eyes and touches his skin. It’s unreal and terrifying because Cas stopped believing in good things years ago, so he can’t stop looking for the catch. And _yet... _ there truly doesn’t seem to be one. 

“What is it?” Dean asks gently. “What else do you use?” 

Castiel reflexively touches the inside of his arm where he knows the marks are well-hidden. He’s not a frequent user, only when life gets _really _overwhelming and on the days when the last thing he wants is to put some asshole’s dick in his mouth for $40. He knows shooting up isn’t safe or healthy but it’s been a long time since he’s even considered there could be another way, or that his life might even get better if he simply stopped. “Heroin,” he admits reluctantly, following a prolonged silence, and Dean just nods, and waits. Castiel shifts against the stone and looks away uncertainly. “I’m aware of how cliché this sounds, so please don’t think that it’s a line to shut you up, but my use really is casual. I never take enough to get hooked and I’m not an addict,” he says, defensive tone cropping up automatically.

“Never said you were,” Dean replies sincerely, squeezing Castiel’s hand. “Look, would you stop if I asked you to? Do you think you could? What about if you called me any time you got the urge to shoot up and we talked instead? No matter the time of day. I’d give you anything, Cas, anything that would help.” From anyone else, a line like that one would sound pathetic and condescending, but Dean looks so soft and earnest that Castiel finds himself believing it. And maybe it’s time he let himself _want _something better.

“Alright,” he whispers, his voice rough, and Dean’s bright smile explodes on his face again, shattering any lingering doubts Castiel might have had that this is the right thing to do. “No promises,” he warns with a sidelong look, “But… it wouldn’t hurt to try, I suppose. If it means that much to you,” he adds, rolling his eyes in a gesture it’s clear Dean sees right through but doesn’t call out. They sit quietly together for a moment.

“Anything else?” Dean’s tone isn’t pushy, he’s clearly genuinely asking, but Castiel snorts.

“Only that I’m pushing thirty and have nothing to show for it. I’m stuck on this merry-go-round I don’t remember getting on for at least another four years until the twins turn eighteen and that’s making the enormous and lofty assumption that they won’t still need me after.” He shrugs. “I could go on.” 

“You can, if you want to,” Dean offers. “Doesn’t really seem like Gabriel’s been the best support system all these years.”

“He does his best.” Gabriel is a whole other subject that Castiel has no interest in delving into, at least not tonight. Dean continues to hold his hand as he kicks aimlessly at the stone behind his legs.

“Can I ask you something?” Castiel just raises his eyebrows, it’s not like things can get any more personal or intimate than they already are. What else could Dean possibly want to know? But Dean accepts his open expression for the permission it is and says, “I thought you wanted to become a chef.” 

“That’s not a question.” 

It’s Dean’s turn to roll his eyes as he rephrases. “Why didn’t you become a chef? I mean, I get the whole school thing, been there. My medic program was condensed, only took me eight months of full-time classes and clinicals but the pay raise was worth it. Any longer though and I would have been SOL with Sammy and Dad. But the city has restaurants, diners and shit. You could still go for it, work your way up? Maybe go back to school when the kids are older?” 

Castiel stares at his shoes and doesn’t reply at first. “I suppose I’m just not as motivated as you were, Dean. It’s been hard, here.” Dean suddenly looks chastised, like he wishes he could pull his lip up and swallow his own head but Castiel returns the gesture of squeezing his hand in reassurance and waving him off. “It’s alright, Dean. Really.” 

“I wasn’t trying to imply—”

“I know.” He looks up and meets Dean’s eyes firmly and without fear. “You aren’t running for the hills,” he observes, and Dean shakes his head no, the ghost of a smile on his lips.

“I promised I wouldn’t,” he replies, and Castiel believes him. His eyes dart over to his car and then back. “Cas, I gotta be honest. I’d really like it if you’d come home with me, though I get it if you can’t or aren’t ready. But you’ve been honest with me, and so I thought I’d return the favor. Cas, it’s killing me to sit here and not touch you. We don’t have to, you know, _do _anything, if you don’t want to, but I thought… shit.” Dean cuts himself off with a nervous laugh and runs a hand through his hair. “Nevermind,” he says, his face flushing and his hand waving. “I sound like a needy little girl.”

Castiel pokes him in the side of his belly and he yelps. “I think I might like you needy,” he says, and Dean’s eyes snap to his, darkening right in front of him. “But if you’re asking if I’ll come over like I used to… then the answer is yes. I believe that I would enjoy that very much.” Dean’s pretty smile returns in full force as he leans in to steal a soft kiss. 

“Great,” he says. “That’s… that’s really great, Cas.” 

Castiel contemplates the idea of spending the night curled against Dean’s side, wrapped up in his arms just like they used to do, and he has to admit, it _does _sound really great. 

“Then let’s go.” 

***

Back at the Novak household, Gabriel, as usual, is more difficult than he has to be. 

_"Dean_ _ Winchester. _You’re telling me Dean Winchester shows up out of the blue and declares his undying love for you after buying the house next door without so much as mentioning it beforehand?! Little brother, this is not a thing that happens,” he says, laughing around the oversized lollipop shoved in his mouth. Castiel just slumps against their kitchen counter with his arms crossed. Thankfully, his younger siblings are either asleep or holed up in their rooms the way teenagers do, so Gabriel doesn’t have his usual back up in his life’s mission to drive Castiel (more) insane (than he already is). He sighs and lets his eyes flick briefly out the kitchen window to where he can see the lights coming on in Dean’s new house. Knowing Dean is beyond those walls, it feels welcoming and he finds himself itching to get over there.

“He didn’t declare his undying love for me, Gabriel, don’t be dramatic.”

“I think I’m entitled Cassie, you haven’t seen him in _twelve years.” _Gabriel takes note of where Castiel’s attention has been drawn and looks towards their new neighbors’ house himself. “Let’s just be honest, he’s either an incredibly creepy stalker or the most romantic motherfucker on the planet.” Gabriel gnaws the lollipop and seems to consider both options, knocking his head from side to side. “Probably a little of both, if you want my opinion.” 

“I don’t,” Castiel shoots back. He turns his back on Gabe and opens up the fridge to grab a water. When he turns back around, Gabe is all but plastered up against their kitchen window. 

“Well, He-_lloooo _tall, dark, and gorgeous,” he whistles, and to Castiel’s horror, he realizes that Sam is standing at the window opposite, washing something at what he can only presume is the Winchesters’ kitchen sink. Cas scrunches up his face in mild disgust. 

“Gross, Gabriel. He’s six years younger than you. You’ve known him since he was in diapers. You _ babysat _him when Dean was at football practice.”

“Hey pot, kettle, remove the stick, age is just a number. And from where I’m standing Sam looks _ all _grown up.” 

“Ugh,” Castiel retorts, grabbing the pouch that has his weed in it and hoping Dean won’t mind. “I’m leaving, I’ll be back to pack lunches in the morning.” Before he can slide out the door, Gabriel catches his arm and holds him back. 

“Don’t bother,” he says, sincere for once, and Castiel raises his eyebrows. His brother isn’t exactly the most generous, not when it comes to his mornings, especially since the late hours of the night are his most profitable, even more so when he’s dealing out of their living room. Cas can’t say he’s a huge fan of Gabe’s customers coming around the house, but it’s not like he’s a hypocrite—he keeps his own unsavory business dealings far away from the kids. But whenever he brings it up, suggests Gabe confine his transactions to the club like he does, Gabe insists that it’s safer for him to do business on his own turf. While it’s true that Gabe _has_ built up enough of a reputation by now that Castiel feels _relatively _certain none of the regulars that have their address will try anything unsavory, but if there’s one thing that goes without saying, it’s that junkies are unpredictable. He would know. 

“Cassie, you haven’t missed a school day in a decade. How many nights have I left you high and dry with the Brady Bunch so I could go party? Not that I’m saying I regret it, mind you. _ Total _opposite. But, same token, I’ve been telling you to go out and get a life for years now and it’s about time you listened. So… go do whatever dirty little things your heart desires with the hot stalker next door and don’t come back until you’re good and rested and he’s cooked you bacon and eggs. And tell him that if he wanted to re-institute bacon and egg Saturdays here, that would be fine by me so long as he’s still cooking. And buying.” Gabriel stares at him pointedly as a fond smile crosses Castiel’s face and he steps forward to pull his brother in for an unusual show of affection. 

“Thank you, Gabriel,” he says warmly as he releases him. Gabriel wiggles his eyebrows and punches Cas’ shoulder.

“Yea, yea. Now get out of here so I can ogle me some Sam before Kali gets here and whips my ass for looking.” Castiel shakes his head and steps out the back door onto the porch, carefully sidestepping the trash bags that never did make it to the curb this morning as he closes it softly behind him. The low stone wall Dean had been leaning on earlier out front runs the length of the space between their properties, and he sits on it to swing his legs over easily. He makes his way up to Dean’s back door and wonders whether he should knock or walk right in. Twelve years ago that wouldn’t have even been a question, but now… 

Fortunately, his dilemma is solved when he looks up as he prepares to ascend the porch steps and sees Dean smiling down at him. Surprised and pleased, he doesn’t stifle the grin that pops up on his own face in response. He climbs the steps and stands close, reaching up to run careful fingers down the side of Dean’s face. He cocks his head to the side and lets the mesmerizing emerald green of Dean’s eyes draw him in, the reflection from the porch light sparking gold inside them and highlighting the amused crinkles at the corners at the same time. 

“Why does this feel so easy? Like you’ve never left?” Castiel lets his hand settle near Dean’s collarbone as Dean laughs softly and drifts even closer, eyes looking up to the ceiling as he heaves a somewhat heavy sigh. Castiel’s brow furrows in concern and he starts to pull back.

“Because I’m working _really _hard to make it seem that way, sweetheart,” Dean finally replies, tugging Castiel back into his chest by his belt loops. Castiel goes but shakes his head all the same.

“Don’t,” he tells him gently. “Don’t try to be anything you aren’t. Just be with me.” Castiel tilts his chin up and Dean brings their mouths close together in the anticipation of a kiss. Crickets chirp in the small yard behind them and a cool breeze ruffles Castiel’s hair. Dean is warm, both soft and hard in all the right ways in his arms and the moment is verging on perfection. So, of course, that’s when Sam rips open the back door and starts bitching at them through the screen. _ Cockblock, indeed, _ Castiel thinks wearily. _ So much is still the same. _

“Cas, do you happen to know why your brother is making obscene gestures through the window at me?” Sam completely ignores the fact that Cas is essentially plastered to his brother’s side, and while perhaps it should have been obvious, it’s _that _reaction that makes certain things finally click together in Castiel’s head. Sam _expected _this, which means Dean _must_ have discussed it with him, which means… Dean actually did come back for _him. _ The realization is somewhat overwhelming, and Castiel has a hard time focusing on Sam at all. He looks back up at Dean, who fortunately has just as little patience for _interrupting moose men, _as he used to half-playfully call Sam all those years ago, back when he first started sprouting up like a tree. 

“Little busy here,” Dean growls, not looking away from Castiel’s face, and he wonders what exactly is showing on it. “Go away, Sam.” 

“He’s harmless, Sam,” Castiel assures him once he gets his thoughts together, because if there’s one thing he knows it’s that the quickest way to get rid of demanding siblings is to give them what they want. “Well, mostly,” he adds thoughtfully. “I wouldn’t worry, though if he gets any more obnoxious I have ways of knocking him down a peg.” Dean rolls his eyes, giving up on restoring their moment, sighing as he steps away from Castiel’s body and sinks tiredly into the porch swing that’s occupying most of the small space. It creaks ominously as his frame sinks into the worn cushions, but Dean looks pleased as punch as he uses his foot to sway back and forth. Sam’s attention is distracted again, returned to looking off to the side in the direction of Cas’ house, probably straight through the mirroring window, if Cas had to guess. 

“Think someone beat you to it,” he says. “Some girl just knocked him upside the head and dragged him away.” Castiel snorts and leans back against one of the porch supports, opening his pouch and taking out his glass bowl, which he raises at Dean for approval. Once Dean flashes him the _ OK _sign, he packs it quickly as he replies to Sam. 

“That would be Kali,” he explains. “Gabriel is very much taken, though that doesn’t stop him from getting around. It’s not particularly something that I understand, but I’ve learned not to ask questions because Gabriel’s answers are inevitably disgusting.” He pauses long enough to light the contents of the bowl and take a long drag, both Sam and Dean watching intently as he flicks his lighter in a practiced motion. “What?” He asks as he blows the smoke out, aiming away from them.

“Nothing,” Sam replies quickly. “Just… forgot how it is here.” He nods his head at Castiel’s bowl and continues, “You know, I wanted to get a place out in the country. Something with a bunch of land, maybe by the river, but Dean wouldn’t hear of it.” Castiel turns his attention to Dean who simply lifts his shoulders in what’s clearly a forced casual movement.

“Get off my back about it, Sam. You can live wherever you want but this street is the last place I remember being happy.” While he directs his statement to Sam, there’s no question that his brother has undoubtedly heard all of this before and all three of them know that Dean’s words are for Cas’ benefit. Even though he’d come to a similar conclusion only moments prior, Castiel still starts at actually hearing the revelation out loud, and in response holds quiet eye contact with Dean until Sam gets uncomfortable.

“Ugh,” he groans. “I forgot you two do this. Well, enjoy your eye sex, I’m gonna hit the sack. Big day tomorrow, I’m touring the courthouse early in the morning. So you know, if you decide to escalate to actual touching, keep it down for me?” Sam leaves the inside door open but the screen closed as he waves to Cas and disappears into the depths of the house.

“Night, Sammy!” Dean calls after him, eyes still glued firmly to Castiel. “So, whaddya say? Want to go ‘escalate’?” His offer is accompanied by an exaggerated wiggling of his eyebrows and Castiel can’t help but laugh, even as he ponders how reminiscent of Gabriel the gesture is. When his laughter runs out though, he scuffs his newly-glued shoe on the weathered wood of the porch.

“Dean?” 

“Yea?”

“I need to tell you something, and I don’t want you to get the wrong idea because I am very much attracted to you and am right now considering throwing you down on this very uncomfortable deck and having my way with you, right out here in the open.” Dean’s eyes sharpen, and his tongue darts out to wet his lips. “However... I was hoping that we could perhaps take one night and… do what we used to.” 

Dean’s expression shifts slowly from boldly lustful to something much softer and he stands, making his way back over to Castiel and taking his hand. “You askin’ me to hold you, Cas?” His voice is soft and sincere but Castiel scoffs, that fear of being vulnerable threatening to suck him down again, but this time he fights it off.  
  
“ _ No,” _ he insists, because he can’t just accept affection like a normal person, “There were equally as many nights that I held _ you _ if you'll recall.” He glances up defiantly and Dean is _right there, _ looking the scarce inch or so down at him _so _fondly.

“Yea,” Dean breathes. “You sure did.” He tips his head to the side, thoughtful. “We were kind of boring teenagers, you know that?” Castiel allows himself to drift into his side once again, inhaling Dean’s musk and the scent of the deodorant he uses as he goes. It makes his head dizzy with how much he wants to be_ —to stay— _close to him. 

“Dean, we were queer teenagers in a red as fuck area and had zero gay role models or older gay friends we could learn from. Everything we knew came from _ Brokeback Mountain _ or gay porn sites, which is probably why we were too terrified to do any of it.” 

Dean winces. “Still remember that time you slammed me up against the brick wall in that alley down the street from here, Jack fuckin’ Twist.” 

“That was _hot,” _Castiel argues. “If I remember correctly, you came in your pants in about thirty seconds.” Dean throws his head back and laughs as he squeezes Cas’ hip. 

“I’m not saying I couldn’t be bribed into a reenactment,” he suggests playfully, but Castiel’s abruptly reminded of what _else _happened in that alley shortly after Dean left town, and his blood runs cold. He pulls back gently but keeps hold of Dean’s hand. _ It’s not his fault, _ he reminds himself.Dean frowns and does his best to tug him back in but Castiel resists, needing a few seconds to center himself. “Cas? What’s wrong? What did I say?” 

Castiel shakes his head and lifts a hand to Dean’s chest in a gesture that he hopes is reassuring. “Nothing, It’s… It isn’t you. It’s just that the memories you and I created aren’t the only ones I have from that alley.” Dean’s eyes search his pleadingly and with a face like that, he certainly doesn’t have to voice his desire for Castiel to share out loud. Castiel sighs, but realizes at the same time that if he and Dean are going to be intimate in _any _fashion, this is a conversation he’s going to have to man up and have sooner rather than later. He leans forward on his toes and brushes their lips together softly, barely there. “It’s not something I wish to discuss like this, out here. Is that alright?” 

“Of course,” Dean replies, though he looks unsure, probably still wondering if he’s at fault for Castiel’s mood change. “As long as you’re okay.” Castiel does his best to wipe whatever residual anxiety is still written on his face away as he pulls Dean towards the door with confidence. 

“Better than,” he lies, preparing himself internally because unless he plans on sleeping fully clothed like some kind of Eskimo, they’re going to need to discuss this tonight. And if that’s the case, he can at least try and create the illusion of comfort. “Show me your room?” 

***


	4. The More Things Change

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter track:[Wild Heart by Bleachers](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NuDDhmO8c68)

_Now everything has changed,_  
_ And it's only you that matters._  
_ I will find any way to your wild heart_

To Castiel’s surprise, the inside of the house is already functionally furnished, if a bit sparse. Dean tells him that the moving truck came shortly after he’d gone to work, which makes sense. He hopes none of their less savory neighbors saw the Winchesters moving any of their nicer things in, but he supposes that’s what deadbolts and guns are for, of which Dean shows him he still has plenty, just like his dad. Dean’s apparently claimed the largest bedroom for himself and in Castiel’s opinion, it’s downright luxurious, not that he’d know luxury if it stepped on his face. As it is, he feels lucky to have retained the semblance of his own bedroom in his current situation. Shortly after his younger siblings had started being born his parents had converted the attic in their row home into two separate bedrooms so that he and Gabe would still have their own spaces and the youngsters wouldn’t be crammed in so close downstairs, (which meant less bickering, a win for everyone). But there isn’t even a bathroom up there, never mind a private one inside his room, and Castiel almost forgets what it’s like to not have to pee in a bottle if you don’t care to walk down an entire flight of stairs in the middle of the night. 

Dean’s bed is pretty damn special, too. Castiel’s mattress is the same double he’s slept on since he was five, a battered foam mattress topper the only improvement he’s been able to afford to splurge on in years. It sits on its box spring on top of a cheap metal frame that’s hardly better than putting it on the floor itself, and suddenly Castiel is vowing internally to _never_ let Dean in his room again. Not that he suspects anyone will be able to pry him out of Dean’s bed ever again after tonight because _holy hell. _It’s a king-sized, rock-solid four-poster with a memory foam mattress and a truckload of pillows and blankets dumped on top. Castiel gapes in awe, kicking his shoes off immediately before stretching across it and rolling onto his back like a cat. He lets out an indulgent groan when he feels the flexible support on his back, arching away from it and then back down. 

“This is unbelievable,” he sighs, moving his arms like he’s making a snow angel, just to take in and relish every pleasurable sensation he can. He draws both knees up and then pushes one leg out, feeling the firm resistance against the soles of his feet. “Fuck me, this is better than an orgasm.” He drops his head to the side and takes in Dean where he still stands almost shyly in the frame of the doorway, his eyes a bit glazed as he watches Castiel’s little display. Cas rolls over onto his stomach and reaches out a hand, an invitation that Dean takes, but not before closing the door and kicking off his own shoes. When he slides onto the bed, Castiel wastes no time in scooting up next to him so that they’re pressed together. Dean’s thumb drags roughly against his bottom lip, but instead of doing the obvious, Castiel just kisses it softly. 

“Do you like it?” Dean’s question catches him somewhat off guard, _ of course, _ he fucking likes it, it’s the bed he imagines God must sleep in, but it still seems like a weird question. Fortunately, Dean continues talking and explains. “Biggest splurge in the house,” he admits. “Dad’s life insurance money got us here, got us the house, but I wanted _this_ more than anything. I remembered how when we were kids you were always making us nests. Stealing all the blankets and pillows from around the house and bringing your own over so you could bundle yourself up. You always talked about how you wanted something like this one day.” He pauses and actually has the audacity to look _worried_ as he waits for Castiel’s reply. “So… do you? Like it, I mean.” 

Castiel’s floored. He’s aware that he’s always done the nesting thing, especially in the past few years with so few other comforts to get him through his nights alone, but he can’t ever recall doing so with Dean. “I can’t believe you remember that,” he murmurs. “I can’t believe you cared enough to... “ He sits up and takes in the whole bed; the comfortable memory foam, the obnoxious number of pillows… it’s true, this whole setup doesn’t read _Dean _at all. “This was really for me?” Pinned under his incredulous gaze Dean nods, his own eyes wide as he stares up at Castiel from where he still lies flat. 

“I told you, Cas. I never stopped thinking about you. I know this doesn’t make up for not being here or not, I dunno, _calling _or writing or visiting, but what can I say? I’m a dumbass. But I’m a dumbass who’s gonna make it up to you if you’ll let me, and I thought I’d start with this. The idea came from memories of you, sure, but I mean come on, who doesn’t love memory foam?” He presses his hand into the sheet-covered mattress and watches with glee as it retains the shape of his fingers after he pulls away. “It _remembers_ me! And, you know, I hoped it might make you want to stay here more often.” He shrugs dismissively, a _really _poor attempt at being casual as a light pink blush colors his cheeks. 

_ Adorable, _ Castiel thinks. _ How can a grown man be so fucking adorable? _ And suddenly, he wants more than anything to give Dean something in return, something important that will show him that the affection and trust he’s offered so freely to Castiel isn’t one-sided. He touches his belly and steels his resolve. _ This isn’t hard, _ he tells himself. _ You can be vulnerable with Dean. You’ve always been safe with Dean. _ And despite the fact that it’s been _twelve years _since that was true, looking down into Dean’s eyes now, for some reason he believes it.

“Can we take our clothes off?” He asks out loud. “At least down to our underwear. I don’t want to mess up the experience of sleeping in this _ fucking wonderland _with clothes.” Dean grins and wordlessly shoots out of the bed, shucking his jeans, socks, and shirt before Castiel can even get the first buttons of his shabby, worn-in collared work shirt open. Dean stands there in his boxer-briefs proudly and lets Castiel drink him in, which makes his fingers falter on his own shirt. 

“Let me help with that,” Dean offers, stepping forward to take over the button-opening, and if he notices Castiel’s hands shaking, he doesn’t say so. Castiel holds his breath as his shirt comes down, waiting for Dean’s inevitable reaction to what’s underneath and unfortunately, he doesn’t mean his yoga-toned stomach. 

He closes his eyes but still knows exactly when Dean sees the scar because he freezes, his hands halting halfway down Cas’ biceps, the removal of his clothing abandoned in its tracks. He waits, the fabric of his shirt billowing softly against the bare skin of his back from the breeze drifting through the open window. Dean is silent, the only sign that he’s even still there being the soft fingertips that are tracing the edge of the scar tissue that runs from the bottom of his right rib cage diagonally across most of his abdomen. When he’s sure that he’s gathered himself enough to address Dean’s inevitable questions, Cas opens his eyes and is surprised to see that Dean’s focused on _him, _and not his scar. 

He lets out a breath and sucks in another one, long and slow and grounding, and still Dean’s soft gaze holds his, waiting patiently. _ Fuck. _ He clears his throat and begins, unraveling a story that he’s never told out loud to anyone. Even Gabriel only has the major pieces of it but none of the details, and he was _ there_.

“A week after you left, I suppose _just_ long enough for them to decide you weren’t coming back… I’d been walking home from practice and took that shortcut through our alley. They were waiting for me. Bunch of meatheads who blamed me for the school losing their quarterback and, I don’t know, hated that I was breathing. They had me cornered, they’d been _waiting_ there, they knew I’d come and they blocked the alley at both ends. I fought back of course, but it was maybe six against one, I never had a chance and they knew it. They kicked the shit out of me and sliced me up, left me there to die. No one even came looking. Only reason I survived was because Mrs. Miller kept her garbage cans in that alley and she happened to be taking out her trash right after it happened. All of them got away with it except that guy Nick that everybody called Lucifer, you remember him?” 

Dean nods slowly, his forehead creasing in concern, both hands wrapping tightly around Castiel’s own. “Yea, dude was a monster dick. He was always extra creepy with Sammy, hanging around and trying to convince him to come out with his crew. He was _ thirteen, _for God’s sake.” Dean suddenly looks angry. “Fuck, Cas. I’m so sorry I wasn’t there.”

“I never blamed you,” Cas replies, squeezing the fingers in his palm. “I just missed you.” 

Dean’s eyes get watery and he covers badly with a cough and a loud clearing of his throat. “Yea,” he agrees. “Me too.” He pauses for a moment and then, “At least tell me he’s locked up.”

Castiel sighs. “He is, but not for what he did to me. He had some minor priors but he was still underage when he was charged with assault for the stabbing, so even though they tried him as an adult, he only received eighteen months. Fortunately, I heard through the grapevine that while he was in there he killed a handful of other inmates and had the entire cell block under something like fascist rule.” Castiel pauses there to consider his words. “I suppose it was unfortunate for those inmates, but at any rate… Lu—_Nick _was transferred after that, out of county down to Max, but I believe his lawyers are still working on getting him out today. I heard that he has a new trial coming up, you know how these things are.” 

Dean makes a face. “That’s more Sammy’s thing, I’m just the pretty face,” he jokes, and Castiel gives him a _ look. _

“That’s never been even remotely true,” he says sternly. Dean flushes for a moment but then sobers quickly when his eyes drift back to Castiel’s stomach. He edges closer on the bed and wraps one hand around his flank, the other gingerly tracing the length of the scar. “It wasn’t quite this dramatic,” Castiel says, floundering a little as Dean’s careful touches set him off balance. “The repair surgery made it look much worse.” He lets his shirt drop off of his shoulders and pool around his forearms, waiting for Dean’s response to the crisscrossing of scars Nick’s buddies had left down the length of his arms. None of those were anywhere near as serious as the one bisecting his middle, but they scarred all the same, and Castiel’s always been self-conscious of how they look. Gabriel claims they make him look badass, but he’s never been able to see it. To him, those scars just make him look like a victim. 

“I’d always planned to get them covered up, but the money… tattoos are prohibitively expensive, at least, the ones worth getting seem to be.” He shifts uncomfortably under Dean’s weighty stare before managing to voice his deepest fear. “This doesn’t… does it change things? How you see me?” 

Dean’s hands still yet again on his abdomen but only for a brief moment before he’s surging forward, wrapping him up in a fierce embrace that has all six feet of Castiel yanked onto his lap before he has any idea what’s happening. Dean’s got an arm wrapped around his shoulders and a hand threaded in his hair, the other pushed underneath his shirt and around his rib cage, a warm palm spread across the middle of his back. 

“Fuck, Cas,” he says again, bright eyes blinking up at where Castiel’s hovering just above him. “The only thing this changes is how guilty I feel for not being here, and it was already a _ lot.” _He lets his hand slip out of Castiel’s hair, fingers running down his cheek and over his jaw. “I thought I knew how much I missed you, but I was wrong. I’m so goddamn sorry I wasn’t here and Cas, you gotta know—I would have stolen my dad’s car, hitchhiked, whatever it took to get back here if I’d known.”

“I know,” Castiel replies softly, allowing himself to drop his head and bury his nose in the crook of Dean’s neck. And Dean smells _so good. _ Like soap and clean skin, something musky, partly _savory_ with just a hint of sweetness _ … _ It’s just as Castiel remembers him and he inhales deeply, feeling comforted, brave. “I know,” he repeats. “That’s why I didn’t call or let Gabriel do it for me. You needed to find your own way, Dean. I held onto the hope that you would come back because _ you _wanted to, not out of some misplaced sense of obligation to me.” He inhales again just because he can, and then out of curiosity, lets his tongue dart out to taste Dean’s skin. 

_ Salt, mostly, but still all Dean. _

“Did you just lick me?” Dean asks with a chuckle, his tone lighter than it’s been for this entire conversation. He gently draws back and lets his hands slide up to rest on Castiel’s biceps. His fingers slide over scars without the slightest hesitation and his face is amused. “No fair,” he complains, tipping his chin down expectantly and raising his eyebrows. Castiel smiles widely in response and bares his neck without pause, Dean’s face lighting up as he dips down to press his lips to Cas’ skin. Cas feels the warm, wet drag of the flat of Dean’s tongue tasting the hollow of his throat, the rest of his body lighting up in hopes for more. 

_ Down, boy, _ he tells himself, though he supposes there’s no _real _reason to hold back, not if Dean doesn’t want to. And yet, he’s not in any rush. Everything he’s seen so far indicates that Dean is truly back, is in this for the long haul, if Castiel wants him to be, that is. 

_ And he does. He really fucking does. _

When Dean surfaces from below his chin, Castiel grabs his face with both hands and kisses him hard. He does his best to pour into it all of his sadness and disillusionment from the past decade, all those lonely nights on his shitty mattress, days gone by in a blur of smoke and a synthetic version of happiness coursing through his veins. He kisses free the reality of how _ stuck _ and hopeless he was when the sun insisted on coming up day after day after day and gives it all over to Dean, Dean’s hands fisting in the front of his half-discarded shirt, taking it all, swallowing it, _ apologizing, _ pushing back _ love _ and _ want _ and _ home. _Castiel knows he’s assigning meaning to this moment that perhaps he shouldn’t, but when he and Dean break apart breathing heavily and tasting each other on their tongues, Dean’s sharp, focused gaze makes him believe that he understands. 

“You were never an obligation, Cas. I _always _wanted to come back,” Dean says firmly, his lips bright red and spit-shiny around his words.

“I believe you,” Castiel replies, and he does. He shucks his shirt off the rest of the way and stands back up off the bed to unbutton and drop his jeans. Dean leans on his hand as he watches, letting his eyes roam shamelessly over Castiel’s body once it’s all but bare.

“Filled out some, haven’t you, sweetheart?” 

Castiel rolls his eyes and climbs back onto the bed, yanking the blankets down as far as he can until his and Dean’s bodies get in the way. When he leans over to do so, he exposes the side of his naked torso to Dean who leans in and mouths at his ribs. He looks pleased with himself when he sits back, and Castiel can’t resist leaning in to kiss the smile off his face. 

“You’ve changed too,” he reminds Dean, but Dean scoffs and flexes his arm.

“Baby, I’ve always been this thick.” He wiggles his eyebrows and Castiel tackles him over, knocking them both back onto the waiting mountain of pillows. He kicks at the blankets until they’re free and then pulls them up to cover both of their bodies. Dean doesn’t hesitate to snuggle up to him, still grinning and exploring Cas’ newly exposed skin with his hands. Castiel’s slightly more reserved, trailing a single finger down Dean’s face and tugging at his bottom lip. Dean nips at it but lets it drop so he can speak. “I’ve always thought you were beautiful, you know,” he says, trying _so_ hard to be casual but he’s transparent as hell. “But now you’re like, out of my fucking league hot.” 

Castiel scrunches up his face and stares at Dean in disbelief. “Dean, that may be the stupidest thing you’ve ever said and I’m counting the time you wanted to know if bats were real or if they only existed in vampire lore. I am a thirty-year-old prostitute and that is the _most _interesting thing about me. I work at Lowe’s and live in the same shithole I grew up in. There’s quite literally nothing about me that’s out of anyone’s league.” 

The playful look disappears off of Dean’s face as it darkens slightly. “Cas,” he says. “Shut the fuck up.” Castiel raises his eyebrows and Dean shakes his head, cupping his jaw. “None of that is who you _are, _ Cas. That bullshit… it doesn’t even touch you, okay? So knock off the self-deprecation. When I look at you, I don’t see any of that. I see _ you.” _He pauses, eyes searching, and swallows hard. “And I hope you see me, too.” 

“You didn’t used to be such a sap,” Castiel retorts, and Dean yanks a pillow out from behind his head to whack him in the face with it. A pillow fight ensues, both of them swinging and whacking away, laughing and yelling until Sam hollers at them from the next room over to shut the fuck up. Panting and exhausted but still smiling like idiots, they call a truce, rearranging the pillows so they can collapse down on them together.

Despite his previous protests about needing to be held, Castiel goes easily when Dean opens his arms and draws him in. While he’s not exactly touch-starved, per se, _this _kind of touch—careful, with true affection behind it, the kind that’s about _him_ and not what someone wants _from_ him—this is wildly new. When he closes his eyes, Castiel’s yanked back through space and time to a twin bed in a tiny room inside an even shittier house than his own and the arms of a teenage boy who made him believe he could have _more. _

Dean feels nothing like that teenage boy now, the bulk in his arms and shoulders the result of hard work and necessity instead of targeted weight training in a gym, the softness in his stomach a sign of age catching up on his love of pie and cheeseburgers. But when Castiel presses their bodies together from shoulder to hip, tangling their legs underneath the covers, it’s all he can see. 

“_ Dean,” _ he murmurs, the full weight and impact of his return and the blossoming possibilities for their future jar his thoughts and make the palms of his hands feel like they’re burning as they slide across Dean’s skin. _ He’s really here. _ Dean’s really here and he wants _him. _It’s all extremely surreal and difficult to wrap his mind around, his late night and lack of sleep not helping at all with his ability to cope and process. Finally, he gives up, relaxing into Dean’s chest and letting himself enjoy the moment for what it is. Dean leans down and kisses him, more firmly than before.

“I can’t wait,” he says quietly, soft green eyes hooded and dark. Castiel tips his head just enough to look up and meet them.

“For what?” He asks as their fingers twine together, Dean’s thumb tracing the outside of his hand so carefully, and Dean _smiles, _ bright and warm, so easy and _real_ it takes Castiel’s breath away.

“For everything,” Dean whispers. Castiel’s frozen, pinned in the space between all the things he gave up waiting for _so_ long ago, and all the possibility Dean’s laying at his feet like it’s nothing, like it’s _just_ that simple.

And maybe it is.

***

Despite Castiel’s plethora of initial concerns and fears, the other shoe never drops. Over the next few weeks, he and Dean spend all their free time together, carving out as many moments as possible that are just for them between work and Castiel’s responsibilities at home. They sleep together most nights, even if it means Castiel’s hopping across the dewy grass at ass o’clock the next morning in his underwear to make sure his siblings actually _go_ to school and don’t spend the entirety of their day getting stoned in their bunk beds because he wanted to sleep in. Sleeping in the same bed next to Dean is wonderful and worth it, though, and Castiel has never felt more rested than when he wakes up with Dean’s warm body curled around his. The thing is, sleeping _is_ all they’ve done in Dean’s bed, and Castiel’s starting to go a little crazy trying to figure out how to take things to the next level. He can’t help but wonder if he missed a memo somewhere along the way and maybe sex isn’t something Dean _wants, _ but how does one even bring something like that up in casual conversation? 

Regardless, aside from the (no) sex issue, things are going pretty well. His siblings don’t remember Dean from before, of course, save for perhaps Michael who’s never around anyway. Which is just as well, Michael had always harbored an obvious and excessive kid-crush on Dean back in the day and he hasn’t gotten any less awkward since despite being twenty now and not eight. In any case, the rest of the kids accept Dean as one of their own pretty quickly, likely due in no small part to his ability to turn cheap ingredients into gourmet meals and his willingness to share that talent on request. It does something to Castiel’s insides to watch Dean cook in his kitchen, plate food for his family, and then sit down with them to eat, smiling and horsing around with his siblings like he’s never left, like he’s _always_ been a part of their family unit. 

One random Thursday about two weeks after Dean and Sam’s arrival, Castiel returns home from his day job to find the entire household, Gabriel and Kali included, crammed into their living room with popcorn, beer, and cigarette butts strewn across laps and tables, every pair of eyes glued to the TV that hasn’t had cable in years. Two half-naked actors with scrub pants on are going at it fiercely atop what Castiel _thinks _is a hospital gurney. No one greets him as he shucks his jacket and hangs it on one of the wall pegs, dumping his keys into the piece of Tupperware left beside the door that doubles as a catch-all bowl. _ No one _includes Dean, who’s crammed into the corner of the couch beside Anna, Hannah on her other side and Rachel beyond that. Kali’s on Gabe’s lap in the recliner that used to belong to Chuck, and Jimmy and Manny are sprawled on their stomachs on the floor. Dean looks positively entranced by what’s playing out on the screen, his hand frozen halfway from the snack bowl on Anna’s lap to his mouth and a piece of popcorn wedged between his lips. Castiel stands next to him and waves a hand in front of his face, eyebrows raised. In response, Dean blinks and shakes his head as if he were in an _actual _trance, glancing up at Castiel as he finally sucks the popcorn piece into his mouth.

“Hey sunshine,” he says with a grin. “Sorry, we’re uh, heh, suppose we have a new Thursday tradition.” He shrugs almost guiltily and Castiel narrows his eyes. 

“Cas!” Jimmy yells, finally taking notice of him. “Guess what? Dean spliced his cable to ours so our TV would work again! And he said he’s gonna buy the WWE fight this weekend!” Jimmy announces the news excitedly, stealing a bowl of popcorn from Rachel’s lap and dragging it to the floor. Manny looks up a little more warily, but his expression is still full of hope. Dean grabs Castiel’s hand and tugs, fingers slippery with artificial butter, but Castiel resists, pulling away and stomping off to the kitchen.

“Geez, what crawled up his butt and died?” Jimmy grumbles. “C’mon, Cas, don’t fuck this up for us! It’s _just_ TV,” he whines, his voice carrying easily into the adjacent kitchen space. Castiel opens the refrigerator door and pulls out a beer, cracking it open on the countertop and downing half in a few too-big swallows. 

“_ Go,” _ he hears Gabriel hiss. “I’m with Jimmy. Won’t catch me letting a little thing like self-respect get in the way of having TV again,” he adds, and Castiel contemplates walking right out the back door before Dean’s footfalls can make it to the kitchen. If he works his ass off _ (ha) _tonight, maybe he can scrape up enough to pay the cable bill himself by tomorrow. He doesn’t dwell too hard on the way his stomach ties up in knots when he thinks about getting on his knees for anyone other than Dean.

_ Too late, _he thinks, as Dean’s face peeps around the doorway between the living room and the kitchen, shame and regret written all over it. He steps into the space between them reluctantly, hand scratching at the back of his neck the way he does when he’s uncomfortable. 

“Shit, Cas,” he says. “I didn’t mean to piss you off. I was just trying to—” 

“We don’t need your handouts, Dean,” Castiel snaps. “I’m not your charity case.” 

“I’ll be your charity case, Dean!” Jimmy calls out from the living room, followed by a chorus of shushes and the volume on the TV being raised. Castiel sighs and grabs his beer before stepping out the back door and onto the porch. There’s no swing out here like Dean’s place, but there are two ratty plastic garden chairs and a beat-up end table between them that Hannah rescued from the trash outside a house down the street. An overflowing ashtray sits on top of the dirty glass, weeks overdue for emptying. Castiel pulls his smokes from his pocket, removing a joint and lighting up before he sinks into the farthest chair from Dean and props his feet on the porch railing, staring off into the backyard and pointedly _not_ at his… whatever Dean is. 

Dean lurks in the doorway for a minute or so before pulling the door shut with not a small amount of trepidation and venturing forward to sit slowly down on the edge of the other chair as if Castiel is some sort of wild animal that might spook at any sudden movements. Castiel snorts at the thought and Dean looks around as if whatever joke he’s missing out on might simply be out of his line of sight. Castiel sighs.

“Why don’t you go the fuck home and take your cable with you?” Castiel snips, inhaling deeply from his smoke and boldly turning his head to pin Dean with a scorching glare. _ Mistake. _ Dean looks hurt and taken aback, and like he’s actually considering collecting his toys and leaving the sandbox. Part of Castiel immediately aches to take it all back, but he didn’t survive this long by _not _being a stubborn asshole. Still, Dean isn’t just anyone, and Castiel could probably stand to soften a bit. He blows out a long stream of smoke and drops his head back against the siding with a soft thud. “I’m not accustomed to this type of assistance,” he admits, and the affront melts off of Dean’s face, just a little.

“Cas,” he says. “I’m fuckin’ sorry if I overstepped. I was just trying to do something nice for the kids. I got caught up in the idea and thinkin’ about how me and you never had TV at all when we were kids and how much it sucked.” He hangs his head and scrapes fingers through his hair. “Listen, I’ll unhook it. Okay? Give me ten minutes.” Dean goes to stand and Castiel waves at him to sit down.

“Too late now,” he mutters. “Like hell, _ I’m _ gonna end up the bad guy here.” Dean’s expression shows he agrees, but he wisely doesn’t say anything. They sit in silence for several minutes, Castiel smoking the joint halfway down all on his own. 

Finally, Dean’s voice cautiously breaks the quiet. “I wish you’d let me treat you the way you deserve, Cas,” he says and the quiet declaration stuns the smart retort right out of Castiel’s mouth. When he looks over, Dean’s staring at him, not with pity or remorse, just open and honest and so obnoxiously _ Dean. _ He stares back for a moment before something inside his head just snaps. He stubs out his joint, standing and stalking over to hover in front of Dean, staring down at him with firm hands on hips and one eyebrow raised. Castiel wonders if he looks as intimidating as he feels, his question answered when Dean’s hands clench on the arms of the chair as he swallows heavily and Castiel _definitely_ approves of that reaction. 

“Do you mean that?” 

Eyes wide, chin tilted up, Dean nods silently. Taking certain liberties with that permission, Castiel fists hands into the front of Dean’s flannel and hauls him out of the chair and onto his feet, crushing their mouths together harder than they’ve ever kissed before. He yanks Dean away from the chair and then slams him up against the house, biting his bottom lip until the taste of copper hits his tongue. But Dean doesn’t complain, doesn’t push him away, in fact, he goes pliant beneath Castiel’s hands and moans into his mouth, encouraging Cas to lick deeper, bite harder. It’s intoxicating, Dean’s willingness to be manhandled and touched so roughly, an outlet for Cas’ bubbling frustrations; at him, at life, at all of it. Castiel feels Dean’s fingers scrabbling at the seams of his jeans and then his hips until they find purchase, dragging their bodies close so their hips can rut together. 

“_ Fuck,” _ Dean gasps when Castiel breaks away to fill his lungs. “Oh, fuck!” He’s almost on his toes up against the wall, Castiel’s thigh between his legs the only thing between his ass and the ground and Cas feels strong, _powerful _for once as he drives his hips forward to give Dean friction to rub against. One of Dean’s hands leaves Cas’ hip and flies back above his head to brace against the wall, his head tilting back, his eyes closing and his mouth dropping open in a silent whine. Cas knows the angle isn’t great, that it’s not enough to get Dean off the way he wants to but the manner in which Dean is giving himself over to be mercilessly teased and tortured is really fucking hard to give up. 

_ So much for Dean not wanting him like this. _

“Come on Dean,” Castiel grunts, grinding his own cock through two layers of denim and into Dean’s crotch. “Treat me the way I deserve,” he commands, and Dean’s eyes roll back a little in his head as Castiel thrusts against him, a sight for sore eyes with his neck bared and pulled to the side by Castiel’s fingers twisted into his hair. His lips are bright red and parted around ragged breaths, the flush in his cheeks making every freckle dotting them that much more visible. And it’s that pretty picture that makes Castiel realize this isn’t enough for him, either. 

When he shifts away Dean’s whine suddenly isn’t so silent anymore, but Cas shushes him, only moving far enough to turn around and shove his jeans down below his ass as he bends over the porch railing and offers himself up.

“Come _on, _ Dean,” he growls over his shoulder. He watches as it takes Dean a second for his brain to catch up, but when it does he’s shoving away from the wall and ripping at the fastenings on his pants like he can’t get them undone fast enough. Fly open, he pushes the denim down just far enough to take his cock out and isn’t shy about leaning in to rub it in the crease of Cas’ bare ass. Dean lets out a little groan as Castiel shoves back against him but apparently he doesn’t need to be told twice. Castiel hears him spit and then feels the head of his cock pushing insistently inside, making him gasp and white-knuckle the railing as it fills him. There’s a burn, but he _wants it, _wants to feel Dean in every single way, no barriers, no bullshit.

“That’s it, now fuck me,” he demands, surprised to hear his own voice come out scratchy and lower than usual. One of his hands reaches back to grab a handful of Dean’s ass and encourage him to move, and Dean does just as he’s told, an arm around Castiel’s waist and a hand around his neck, fucking hard and fast and without reservation. The hand at his neck feels somewhat ironic, and Dean never even gives the illusion that he might squeeze. It’s obvious who’s in control here, and it isn’t Dean. The force of his thrusts pushes Castiel forward against the rickety old railing and it creaks dangerously under the weight of two fully grown men. The slight sense of danger and the fact that they’re fucking right out in the open for anyone to see thrills Castiel, sends him rocketing towards an orgasm faster than he would have thought possible. It’s rough and fast and dirty, nothing like he imagined their first time together would be, and he wouldn’t change a single thing. Dean’s grunting into the space between his shoulders, breath coming hot and fast. He’s obviously completely lost to the sensations and the moment but he’s still perfectly responsive to Castiel’s commands, though even those are threatening to become incoherent as Dean’s cock brushes his prostate a few times in a row.

“Touch me,” he orders between gasps and Dean does, offering Castiel the hand that was resting on his stomach to lick before making a tunnel and forcing Castiel’s cock into it with every forward thrust of his hips. Cas wraps his own hand around Dean’s and increases the pressure to his liking, guiding him to twist and pull just right. It’s not long before he’s the one giving himself over to the rush of heat coiling at the base of his spine, fucking into Dean’s warm hand with abandon, moaning and crying out as the cock inside him slams into his prostate and sends him spilling out all over their hands and the overgrown grass below the railing. He moans and sighs with relief as Dean works him through it, fucking him harder still after he takes his hand away, pulling Cas’ head to the side and leaving hot, open-mouthed kisses on his neck as his own body locks up and he comes deep inside. 

Dean’s slow to pull away when he’s done, still grinding his hips languidly as he drops his forehead to Castiel’s back and sucks in several deep breaths. When he does slip out, Castiel tucks himself away, wiping his dirty hand on his jeans as he pulls them back up despite the mess, turning to face Dean and helping him do the same. He’s not surprised to see Dean looking sated, but he’s _so_ heavy-lidded and dazed that Cas starts to worry he went too far. That is until a slow, lazy smile spreads across Dean’s lips and a bubbly little laugh escapes from his throat. It’s sweet, and Castiel can’t help but smile back. Still, it doesn’t take a genius or a sex god to recognize what Dean needs now, and quickly, before he can crash.

Grabbing his weed, Castiel pulls his phone from his pocket and shoots a message off to Gabriel that he’s leaving before grabbing Dean’s hand and dragging him down the porch steps and across the yard to his own house. His phone buzzes in his fingers and he glances down at it as they ascend Dean’s porch steps, the outside light on and the door open the way Dean always leaves it when he comes over.

** _Gabe: Thank god, bout fuckin time. We’re all scarred for life in here, the volume on this thing doesnt go any higher you asshole. Tell me we at least get to keep the cable? As an apology for being tortured with the sounds of your ass gettin pounded?_ **

Castiel rolls his eyes and lets Gabe’s text go unanswered. As if he hasn’t done the same and worse to all of them at one time or another. Castiel’s _still_ getting over the time he came home to find Gabriel stark naked in the middle of the kitchen with both Kali _and_ her friend Rowena in compromising positions. He shudders at the unwanted memory. The kids are a different story, though he suspects every one of them except Manny are unfazed. Living out of each other’s pockets the way they do lends itself to a certain blasé attitude towards things normal families would probably find shocking and repulsive. He makes a mental note to check in with Manny later, and tugs a dreamy-faced Dean through his house and up to his room, closing the door behind them and locking it, just in case. 

He undresses and cleans both himself and Dean up quickly, tucking the dazed man into bed and sliding in next to him for some skin-on-skin cuddling. He threads fingers through Dean’s hair and kisses whatever bare skin he can reach easily, while Dean lies quietly in his arms. Everything considered, Dean’s still unusually quiet, and Castiel would think him asleep it if weren’t for the index finger drawing lazy patterns on his thigh. After a bit of internal debate, he makes the decision to wade into serious pillow talk territory, because Dean’s silence is starting to get unnerving. 

“Was that…” He falters, licking his lips before trying again. “Was it too much?”

“Hmm?” Dean looks up, eyes a little clearer now but still in that borderline-subspace haze and Castiel feels a deep pang of guilt for pushing him there without at least having a conversation or _fuck, _picking a damn safe word first. But Dean smiles, stretching up to plant a soft kiss on his mouth before relaxing down on his back into the mess of pillows again. “No,” he says confidently, sighing a little as he makes himself comfortable, not sounding the least bit upset at all. He slips a hand behind his head and grins. “It was fucking hot, Cas. Just, you know, never got pushed around like that before, least not when I wasn’t throwing fists. Kinda threw me for a loop how much I liked it. Just needed a minute.” He catches on to Castiel’s concerned expression and tugs him down, Castiel splaying himself over the side of Dean’s chest, thigh draped over one of Dean’s and their faces only inches apart.

“I don’t know what came over me, honestly, Dean. That isn’t…” He shakes his head, feeling a little lost, but Dean just reaches up and chucks his chin.

“Hey,” he says, still sporting that bright smile. “Seems like you might be more upset than me.”

“Maybe,” Castiel admits, voice muffled where he’s dropped his face into Dean’s chest and is breathing him in. “It’s been twelve years, Dean, don’t tell me you haven’t imagined how our first time would go.” 

“Sure,” Dean replies easily, hand relocating from behind his head down to palm over Castiel’s ass. “Lots of times, tons of different ways. We can try ‘em all if you want,” he offers with a cheeky wiggle of his eyebrows, and Castiel finally starts to accept that he truly isn’t fazed. “But that, what we just did? That should definitely go on our greatest hits list. ‘Cause we are definitely doing that again.” Castiel cups Dean’s jaw and kisses his cheek before snuggling down into him and pulling the covers up. 

“Thank you,” he murmurs, and Dean’s arms tighten around him. The rustling of Dean’s curtains in the night breeze and the growl of passing cars outside the window are all that’s heard for several moments as Castiel starts to drift off to sleep.

“Cas?” Dean’s voice breaks the relative silence. “We’re good now, right?” 

Castiel grumbles and rubs his face into Dean’s shoulder. “I suppose,” he relents.

Of course, Dean can never _not_ pick at a scab, so he persists. “You know, I was serious when I said about treating you right. It’s not charity, Cas, it’s…” He trails off, and Castiel waits, but Dean doesn’t continue. 

He snorts. “Dean, when you can bring yourself to say the word that goes at the end of that sentence, I’ll consider your offer. Until then, stop buying me things, I don’t need you to take care of me or my family.” 

Dean doesn’t reply, but Castiel can sense that he’s pouting. He pokes at his stomach until Dean wiggles away from it. “You like my bed,” he points out petulantly. “You let me give you the bed.” 

“The bed is _your_ bed, Dean, but… yes, the gesture was very sweet,” Castiel agrees. “What can I say, I’m a sucker for pillows and blankets.” He chuckles and then pauses for a moment before adding quietly, “And you.” 

He can feel Dean’s smile as it spreads against his forehead, followed closely by a firm kiss. 

“I just want us to be on even ground,” he mumbles, eyes closed and half-asleep already. Dean doesn’t reply this time but he squeezes Castiel and covers his shoulders carefully with the blanket, kissing him again softly on the top of his head. 

And _that_ is the kind of gift Castiel will always want from Dean. It occurs to him distantly in his sleep-addled state that he’s completely and irrevocably in love with this man who not a month ago had been hardly a blip on his radar, a figment of his imagination, a dream eternally destined to be _just_ out of reach. Despite that, the thought of being in love with Dean is not nearly as scary as it should be. 

***


	5. Littlething

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Track: [Littlething by Jimmy Eat World](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uTnRR8gSd8c)
> 
> Even if you typically skip accompanying tracks, I highly recommend giving just this one a listen--it's so representative of Castiel's feelings for most of this story that it was nearly the title (and it's just a really good song).

_I know it’s just a little thing_  
_buried in the other things,_  
_burning away from inside_  
_would you stay with me tonight?_

Dean settles into his job at the city fire department as if he’s been there for years. He makes friends who come over to drink beers and smoke cigarettes out back while Dean barbecues, and as far as Cas can tell he seems genuinely happy. On the way back from calls he even brings the engine or ambulance by Lowe’s on occasion to say hello, something Castiel’s not sure whether he adores or is completely embarrassed by (_ it’s both), _though Dean assures him it’s something they do to all of his crew’s significant others when they can. The first time the meticulously waxed red truck pulls up outside the gardening center and Dean hops out of the cab clad only in a tight blue t-shirt and bunker pants, hair still sweaty and sticking up from being inside his helmet and a big smear of soot on his cheek, Castiel almost falls over a potted begonia. Dean looks like he strode right off the pages of a pinup calendar, the kind where half-naked firefighters hold hoses between their legs and office secretaries tack up next to their “Sounds like someone’s got a case of the Mondays” signs.

All the same, Castiel can’t wipe the smile and probably the starstruck look off of his face as Dean grabs his hand and leads him over to the truck, introducing him proudly to his entire crew and then playfully crowding him up against the truck to kiss him like nobody’s watching. It's a risky move, living where they do, but his co-workers just groan and make fun of him for being “whipped,” and Dean smiles into his mouth. When they’re close like that, Castiel can smell the smoke still clinging to Dean’s clothes and body, the hand that’s cupping his jaw almost too much, like being at the fire himself if he closes his eyes. The hand he slips around the back of Dean’s neck comes away wet from sweat, but Dean just shrugs unapologetically when Castiel shows him and wipes it on his soaked-through t-shirt. He yanks on the cord that controls the air horn as the truck pulls away and Castiel stands there flushed and awkward, half of his own co-workers looking on in open interest. No one says anything negative but he _ does _ get an affectionate “Good for _ you,” _ and a wink from Nora, his boss, leaving a flustered Castiel speechless with an armful of annuals. 

At nine PM, just after Castiel’s shift has ended and he’s unchaining his bicycle from the wire fencing around the side of the garden center enclosure, Dean’s car roars up and parks in front of him, a freshly showered Dean hopping excitedly out of the driver’s side. 

“Let me put that in the back, we’ll drop it off before we head out.” Dean’s grinning mischievously as he kisses Castiel hello before taking the bike from his hands, stepping one foot on a pedal and balancing precariously as he coasts over to the Impala. 

“Where exactly are we heading out to?” Castiel asks curiously as he follows behind Dean, unabashedly checking out the man’s ass as he guides the bicycle into the backseat, careful not to snag and rip the leather. Dean’s wearing his favorite low-slung jeans and a clean fire department t-shirt, navy with “RFD” printed in giant white lettering across the back that clings to his body in a way that’s just far enough shy of obscene to still be appropriate in public. Truth be told, the outfit alone is enough to make Castiel want to follow him just about anywhere, but that doesn’t mean he can think of any place worth going after nine on a weeknight in this shitty ass city.

Dean straightens up and rubs his hand on his jeans, leaving behind a smear of oil from the bike’s gears that he ignores. He closes the door and kisses Castiel again, hopping away gleefully and jogging around the car to the driver’s side. “It’s a surprise!” he declares. “All you need to know is that you’re mine for tonight and tomorrow, Gabe’s taking care of the kids, and… that’s all you get.” He flashes a set of perfect pearly whites in Castiel’s direction and tucks himself inside the car, beeping the horn once when he doesn’t immediately follow. 

“You’re lucky you’re pretty,” Castiel grumbles as he slides in, holding back a smile. 

“Pssh,” Dean replies. “Don’t I know it.” 

***

When they pull up in front of the house, Dean follows Castiel in with instructions to pack a bag. “I tried to, buddy,” he says apologetically. “I had this whole plan and everything, you weren’t gonna have to lift a finger.” He shakes his head.

“But?” 

“Anna chased me out of your room with the shotgun.” 

Castiel laughs so hard he snorts, shoving open the door with his foot and dragging his bike across the threshold since God knows it’ll get stolen if he leaves it outside. He leans the handlebars against the tiny entryway wall and turns to Dean with a wide smile, tilting his head up and stealing a kiss. “I may have a history of bringing home the type of men who require that sort of encouragement to leave,” he says with a smirk.

As they move into the living room, Rachel and some boy Cas has never seen before are scrambling to straighten their clothing on the couch. “You have a room,” Castiel remarks as he starts up the stairs, pointing Dean towards the kitchen. “Beers in the fridge.” Dean salutes and makes his way past the sheepish teenagers with a wink. 

Castiel checks on the other kids as he heads towards his room. Hannah’s still out with friends but Anna, Manny, and Jimmy are all in the boys’ room hanging out. Manny at least looks like he’s studying while Anna and Jimmy pass a joint back and forth, both of them sprawled across the top bunk somewhat precariously. 

“At least crack a book while you smoke that thing,” Castiel suggests. “I think I read somewhere that pot can help you retain information.” He pauses and considers what he’s said. “Not that it’s ever helped me, but God bless.” 

“Are you going away with Dean?” Anna offers him the roach as she rolls over onto her stomach, red hair spilling over the edge of the bed like a psychedelic waterfall. Castiel accepts and takes a long drag before handing it back to Jimmy.

“Stop stealing my weed,” he scolds them, blowing out the lungful away from their faces. He presses his face and body against the bedpost and curls his fingers around it, looking up at them curiously. “Why? Do you think I shouldn’t?” 

“Nah,” Anna replies. “He’s alright for an old dude.” 

“Fuck you,” Castiel replies with a laugh, yanking a pillow out from under her chest and hitting her in the face. 

“I like him,” Manny pipes up from his place down on the floor, books and worksheets spread out around him. He stops what he’s doing and chews on the eraser of his pencil. “He doesn’t ask us for money and he shares his cable. And he’s prettier than Meg,” he concludes. 

“Meg and I were never dating,” Castiel corrects him.

“Fucking, whatever,” Jimmy interjects. He’s got a little foam basketball that he’s tossing aimlessly in the air, and as soon as Manny is concentrated on his work again, he wings it at his head. When it bounces off and rolls away, Jimmy laughs while Manny doesn’t react at all. 

“We weren’t doing that either,” Castiel continues, though he suspects he’s already lost this particular battle. “I might not be back for a day or so but Gabe will be here, not that he’s any more of a functioning adult than the three of you. Promise me you won’t burn the place down.” 

“You worry too much, Cas,” Anna tells him. “You should go have some fun with Dean. You deserve it.” Manny looks up and nods his agreement, and even Jimmy doesn’t bother to make a smart ass remark, blue eyes blinking in Castiel’s direction from where he lies quietly on a pillow. 

“Study,” Castiel says sternly as he steps back out into the hallway and pulls the door closed so he can open the one to the attic. Jogging upstairs, he moves as quickly as possible, gathering clothes and toiletries into a small duffle before making his way back down to the kitchen again. He comes down the back set of stairs and emerges to find Gabe and Dean leaning against the counter and shooting the shit. He stops dead in his tracks when he sees the matching playful expressions on both of their faces, glancing warily at each of them in turn.

“Can’t say that I like the looks of this,” he says as he opens the fridge and grabs a beer for himself. 

“Aw, don’t be that way Cassie, I was just reading Dean-o here the riot act. You know, asking him what his intentions are towards you and all that.” Gabriel can hardly keep a straight face as he speaks, and Castiel responds by ignoring him outright. He slides onto one of the barstools at the counter and looks at Dean.

“You’re really not gonna tell me where we’re going?” 

Dean just grins and shakes his head. “Nope,” he replies, popping the p. “You’ll have to trust me.” 

“Ah, that’s your first mistake, Dean-o. Cas here trusts no one. He’s an independent woman, he doesn’t need a man to complete him!” Gabriel shoves himself up on the bar and produces a lollipop from god knows where, shoving it into his mouth. _Thankfully._ Castiel hopes it keeps him quiet, but he won’t hold his breath. 

“Ugh,” he says in Dean’s direction. “Are you good?” Dean nods as he finishes tipping the rest of his beer down his throat and Castiel follows suit, handing the remainder off to Gabriel. “Enjoy your weekend holding down the fort,” he says. “Call me if you need anything.” He turns around in time to see Dean vehemently shaking his head no, and back in time to see Gabriel give him a thumbs up and a wink. “You’re both on my list,” Castiel grumbles, stalking past Dean and out through the living room. “Use a condom,” he says to Rachel as he passes. “We can’t afford another kid in this house.” 

***

They’re headed east, past the exit signs that lead to Allentown and onward towards New Jersey. Castiel needles at Dean the entire time they drive, doing his best to crack his resolve and get him to admit where they’re going, but Dean’s solid. No matter what Cas tries, he refuses to crack. Eventually, Castiel gives up, settling back against his seat and letting himself enjoy Dean’s company. They turn the music up and put all the windows down, and while the air has a little chill in it (especially whipping by at sixty miles per hour) the day was warm enough to still feel pleasant even without the sun. 

His suspicions as to their destination semi-solidify when Dean guides the car onto the Atlantic City Expressway, but the road _does _provide access to more than one shore point so he keeps his educated guess to himself for now. 

Castiel catches Dean’s shadowy face stealing glances at him pretty much every time he turns his head, complete with the soft smile he does whenever he’s thinking about something sappy. 

“Pay attention to the road, Dean. Watch the scenery or something.” He bites back a smirk even as he says the words since the AC Expressway is nothing but miles of tree-lined highway, and that’s when it’s light out. In the dark, it’s even more boring. Dean scoffs his agreement to Castiel’s internal monologue, despite the fact that he can’t hear it. 

“Watching paint dry would be more interesting than what’s going on outside this car,” he argues. “You can’t yell at me for thinking you’re prettier than tree number seven hundred and fifty-six.” Dean tilts his head to the right and stares Castiel down again, just to make his point.

Castiel laughs and opens his mouth to fire off a smart reply, but before he can, a brown blur darts several yards ahead, right into the path of the car. “STOP!” He yells and reaches out for Dean on reflex, his whole body tensing and bracing for impact as Dean’s head snaps forward and he reacts. His arms lock tight as he slams a foot down on the pedal, throwing Castiel forward against his locked seatbelt as the Impala grinds angrily to a stop only a foot or so from the stunned deer. The smell of brake pads burning fills the air as Bambi comes to her senses and trots away out of the light, no worse for the wear.

Slapping a hand to his chest, Castiel wishes he could say the same for himself and Dean. While he’s grateful they didn’t get into an actual accident, he’s not sure he’s ever been closer to pissing his pants as an adult. His heart thuds frantically inside his chest and even the deep breaths he sucks in fail to calm it. Dean doesn’t look much better off, pale and slumped back against the bench seat with a hand over his face. They’re lucky the Expressway is quiet tonight and that no one was following them. Without a word, Dean takes a deep, shuddering breath and eases off the brake pedal, looking back over his shoulder before navigating the car smoothly across the traveling lane and into the emergency breakdown shoulder. He leaves the blinker on as a warning to other cars before shifting into park and turning towards Castiel, eyes full of an apology. 

“Don’t say it,” Castiel tells him, letting his hand finally drop from where it had grasped onto Dean’s shoulder down to his hand. He laces their fingers together and tugs until Dean comes willingly into his arms. He presses his face into Castiel’s neck and stays there until his breathing stabilizes, until both of their hearts are beating more normally. 

“Sorry, Cas,” Dean mumbles into his shirt. “That was way too close. I shoulda been paying attention.” Castiel pats his back and kisses the top of his head in what he hopes is a soothing gesture.

“It was a fucking deer, Dean. Their only jobs in life are to wreck cars and reproduce to make more little four-legged assholes to wreck _more_ cars. I’m glad you were able to stop.” 

Dean sits up and presses a kiss to his cheek. “I’ll be right back, just wanna take a look under the hood.” Castiel nods and watches as Dean grabs a flashlight from the glove compartment before stepping out onto the highway. He pops the hood and disappears under it, leaving Castiel alone with no choice but to acknowledge that the scenery really _is _fucking boring. After several minutes where the quiet is only broken by the sounds of Dean tinkering and the rush of the air being disturbed by another passing car, the hood closes and bathed in the headlights, Dean gives him a thumbs up. Castiel sighs in relief. He’s aware that Dean’s love for his car surpasses normal human affection for inanimate objects and he doubts the man would have wanted to continue with their little getaway if something had really been wrong. 

Dean slides back in and Castiel immediately reaches out to grab the back of his head and pull them together, their mouths meeting at a rough pass. Caught off guard, Dean struggles to breathe normally around Cas’ insistent kisses, eventually giving up and shoving him backward, down onto the bench seat so he can suck in a deep breath before climbing on top of him. Castiel’s head smacks against the leather as watches Dean shift above him, the faint glow of the Impala’s headlights casting him in all kinds of strange shadows as it backlights him against the otherwise overwhelming dark. He licks his lips as Dean’s face comes closer, lifting his head to meet him the last few inches, palms soothing down the sides of his face. 

“Dean,” he moans, hands pulling at the usual four layers Dean wears like armor uselessly before wising up and slipping beneath the entire ensemble. The skin of his torso is hot on the pads of Castiel’s fingers, and he only wishes they could get naked right then and there. He pauses and glances up at Dean. 

“It would probably be reckless to get naked out here in the open like this,” he says, but his tone says something completely else. They stay there for a minute, so close they’re sharing air and Castiel can still see the emerald of Dean’s eyes, even in the low light. Dean’s gaze bores into his, searching until he finally draws his lip between his teeth and Castiel breaks into a wide smile.

“Shit,” he says, sitting back on his heels over Castiel’s thighs and continuing to stare him down. From one minute to the next, the standoff between them breaks over nothing at all and suddenly they’re ripping clothes off of their own bodies like they’ve been set on fire. Castiel gets stuck when his jeans won’t slip over his shoes, swearing and grunting up a storm as he fights with the offending footwear to shove it off. As soon as he’s free, Dean’s on him, crashing into his chest and wrapping arms around his shoulders as he licks deep into his mouth. They fall back against the passenger side door and Castiel has to shove him off when the seatbelt lock digs painfully into his ass, but then Dean turns around and bends over, arms folded on the driver’s side door and one leg in the footwell and _that_ Castiel can work with. 

“Do you need—”

“Fuck no, Cas, just do it,” Dean grunts. Castiel rolls his eyes and fishes in the luggage stuffed into the backseat until he comes up with lube anyway. 

The noises Dean makes as he pushes inside should be illegal, and Castiel can’t help experimenting with ways to touch him in order to keep them coming. He pulls Dean’s cheeks apart to get deeper inside, he tries tugging on Dean’s hair, scrapes nails down his flank, squeezes his thigh, all of which produce different moans and sighs. It’s so intoxicating that he _almost_ forgets they’re fucking in a car in the middle of a highway. It’s not bad though; the fit is a little tight, two grown men shoved into one seat, and at one point Castiel’s bent leg on the bench starts to tingle from being kept that way for too long, but overall it’s _hot_ and sweaty, raw and passionate. Dean’s face ends up smashed against the window, his eyes heavy and drifting closed unconsciously as he’s rocked forward and back. At some point, he reaches behind them and grabs a handful of Castiel’s ass, urging him on as he thrusts away as hard and deep as he can. Castiel’s happy as fuck that they stripped, there’s _nothing_ that compares to having Dean’s whole naked body pressed up against his, _ nothing. _Getting off is fine but he can do that anywhere, any time. 

But being close to Dean? Now _that’s _something to write home about.

“Ungh, need… ahh,” Dean’s request gets swallowed when the press of Castiel inside him brushes up against _just_ the right spot but Cas catches his drift anyway. He reaches around to wrap fingers around Dean’s cock and stroke firmly until he’s tensing, arching back into Castiel’s chest and coming in his hand. He works him steadily through the waves and then closes his fist around the mess _ (Dean will thank him later when Baby’s interior isn’t damaged) _as he relocates his other hand from Dean’s hip to his shoulder. He uses the leverage to pull him back hard and rolls his hips with abandon as he grinds into him, closing his eyes and dropping his head back as the tension snaps and has him finishing off inside Dean. He gentles his thrusts slowly, giving Dean time to adjust before slipping out, though he clocks a wince from the other man anyway.

“Sorry,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to Dean’s sweaty shoulder. “Uhm…” Dean turns his head to look back at him questioningly, one eyebrow raised at Castiel’s tone but soon realizing the issue when he sees his fist held up in the air. 

“Oh… shit. Hang on.” He reaches awkwardly past Cas to the glove compartment and taps it open, rummaging inside before emerging victorious with a handful of coffee shop napkins. He hands a few off and uses the rest to wipe himself clean, rolling the window down and chucking the sticky bundle outside when he’s finished.

“Dean!” Castiel chastises. “That’s littering.” Dean just looks at him sideways and plucks his own soiled napkins from between his fingers before chucking them out the window too. “The environment is everyone’s responsibility, Dean,” Castiel replies, stonily. Dean responds by winging his shirt at his face.

“Baby’s due for some new brake pads anyway,” Dean tells him as he pulls his clothes back on, awkward as it is in the small space. “They’re a little more worn down than I’d like to go cruising around with but nothing criminal, we’ll just take it easy on her, won’t we girl?” He pats the dashboard affectionately and flashes a grin at Castiel. “Lucky that’s all the damage we did... wouldn’t trust a shop within fifty miles of Atlantic City to take care of my girl.” Castiel brightens at Dean’s little slip and pokes him excitedly in his arm. “Ouch,” Dean protests.

“So we _ are _going to Atlantic City?!” Castiel grins widely. “Told you I’d get it out of you.” 

“Yea, yea,” Dean mutters, buckling his seatbelt and checking his blind spot before putting the car back into gear and pulling out into the roadway. “Laugh it up, chuckles. See if you get any gambling money from me.” Dean plays irritated extremely well, but the minute he thinks Castiel’s looking the other way, the lines of his mouth quirk up at the side and he steals a glance sideways out of the corner of his eye. Castiel takes his hand across the seat when he offers it.

***

Not having sufficient cash to so much as purchase shoes that aren’t falling apart at the seams, Castiel hasn’t done something like this, something _fun_ simply for the sake of being fun, since he was a very young child. He lets Dean’s enthusiasm sweep him up, buoy him along like a boat swept away in the current of the lights and sounds and all the exciting things there are to do. He doesn’t second guess his desires, doesn’t protest spending Dean’s money when he offers. He works hard at not dwelling on what his family is doing at home without him for _one _damn night. He and Dean dance like teenagers to a shitty live band playing on a tacky stage in the middle of one of the casinos, throwing back shots poured into neon test tubes and sold by girls wearing little more than underwear. Dean spins him and wraps arms around him and kisses him like nothing else in the whole world exists or matters. 

They throw money down the toilet in the slot machines and Castiel laughs harder than he has in years when Dean pulls a twenty-dollar spin by accident and it comes up a total bust. They fare slightly better at the card tables, eventually breaking even with Dean scoring a slight edge using his well-honed poker (hustling) skills. But when they join the craps table, that’s when they really hit it out of the park. Castiel blows on the dice before Dean throws them and they _win. _They win and they win, and they keep on winning, and pretty soon there’s champagne being poured and Dean’s kissing him senseless where he sits on the edge of the table, hands twisted in his hair and mouth desperate. 

They cash out and burst from the smokey gaming floor directly out onto the boardwalk where the salt air is fresh and clean and the ocean is crashing just a few hundred yards away. Dean only has to raise his eyebrows before Cas is nodding vigorously and tightening his hold on Dean’s hand as they run for the beach, kicking off shoes and hopping as they pull off socks, racing towards the water’s edge and splashing in without hesitation.

“Holy _ shit!” _ Dean gasps, as the surf crashes around his calves, Castiel hollering in an extremely undignified manner next to him. The water is _freezing, _pins stabbing relentlessly into his unprepared feet. At least the sand is soft on his soles, or perhaps that’s just frostbite setting in. Castiel jumps from side to side hoping in vain that somehow the movement will warm him up or perhaps frighten the cold away, but the giant smile he’s had on his face for hours hasn’t budged an inch. The two of them frolic back and forth, kicking up sprays of icy water at each other and yelling when those droplets land on exposed skin. It’s juvenile and ridiculous, and the whole thing makes Castiel feel young and free. 

Worn out, they stand together in the surf, staring out over the dark horizon as they catch their breath. Dean looks over as he lifts their hands from where they’re dangling between them, raising them up until he can drop Castiel’s onto his shoulder and slide his own around Cas’ waist to bring them together. Dean’s kisses are sweet and soft, burning in comparison to the chill working its way up his lower body, and Castiel melts into him. He presses up on his toes to get a slight height advantage on Dean, wrapping both arms around his neck and letting the magic of Dean’s kiss sweep him away. 

Eventually, they end up laid out on the sand, though hell if Castiel knows how they got there. Dean’s on top with a knee wedged in between Cas’ thighs, rocking sensuously against his hip as he keeps kissing him slow and deep. A shudder runs down Castiel’s body, from his core outward as he realizes something has _definitely_ shifted between them. No one’s working up to sex, neither of them even seem interested in getting out of their clothes, this is just _touching_ and affection and… _ Jesus Christ. _

_ Love, _ Castiel realizes. _ This is love. _ The way Dean’s fingers skate carefully beneath his jaw, the way their bodies press together seeking _comfort_ and not _release, _ the soft murmurs Dean whispers in his ear, asking if he’s warm, if this _feels good, _ if he’s _happy. _

Dean’s lips are soft and sure and Castiel’s eyes fly open when he finally starts to comprehend that somewhere along the way over these past few weeks, his quiet dream for _something more _that he’d stuffed into a box and locked deep within his head all those years ago is suddenly coming true. He fights the urge to drag Dean into his arms and cling to him, fights even harder against the unbidden desire to turn tail and run as fast and far as he can in the other direction. Too late, he realizes Dean is staring down at him with not a small amount of concern written across his face. Castiel pushes to sitting and places a hand in the middle of Dean’s chest, leaning in to kiss him again softly. 

When he pulls back, Dean looks as if he understands. Somehow, he understands. “It’s okay, Cas,” he says softly. He shifts so that he’s sitting in the sand instead of hovering and opens his arms, waiting patiently. Castiel squeezes his eyes shut, presses the heels of his hands against his lids and the burn behind them, but when he opens again Dean is still there, still waiting. And so he goes, letting Dean wrap him up, drag him down and hold him there, both of them wet and chilly in the cold sand. 

“You make me _want _things,” he admits to the knitted fabric of Dean’s shirt. “Things I’m not supposed to want.” 

It’s quiet for a moment, and then Dean replies.

“Who says?” 

And fuck if Castiel has any kind of good answer to that.

***

_It’s just a little thing, buried in the other things_  
_burning away from inside_  
_Would you stay with me tonight?_  
_And there’s a quiet dream, I’m not supposed to think_  
_eating away at my mind_  
_Would you be with me tonight?_

***

The two of them stumble into Castiel’s house early the following evening arm-in-arm, relaxed and happy, laughing at some silly joke Dean had made earlier. Castiel steals a kiss as they wander into the living room, and that turns into Dean pressing him up against a wall to make out for several long minutes, uncaring of who’s around to see. 

“Ow owww!” Gabriel’s singsong voice interrupts their little interlude but doesn’t even come close to pulling the smile from Castiel’s face. Dean ignores Gabe completely, holding eye contact with him and brushing a gentle thumb down Castiel's cheek, leaning in to press their lips together one more time. Reluctantly, Cas pulls away but takes Dean’s hand and pulls him into the kitchen where everyone’s gathered for dinner. Pizza boxes take up all of the counter space and Castiel looks admonishingly at Gabe.

“Better not be our water bill they’re scarfing down,” he warns, gesturing to the rest of his siblings sitting around the kitchen table, who barely acknowledge his presence.

“Food was free,” Gabriel replies smugly. “Courtesy of Kali’s bro Ganesh, he’s working down at the pizza place on North Eighteenth. Someone called in an order and didn’t pick it up.” Gabriel winks and Castiel shrugs, opening the box and grabbing two slices, handing one off to Dean. 

“Tell him thanks,” he says around a mouthful of cheese. “How’s everything else? No one got arrested or expelled, right?” 

“C’mon Cas, give us a little credit,” Gabriel complains, grabbing three beers out of the fridge and handing them to Dean and Cas, keeping one for himself.

“Me too,” Rachel says with her hand up, and Gabe passes his beer across the counter before returning to the fridge to grab another. 

“I got a hundred on my algebra test, Cas,” Manny announces softly, and Castiel moves around the counter to lean down and hug him across the shoulders. He kisses his cheek, too, even though Manny wipes it off immediately and with vigor. 

“I’m proud of you,” he says, before turning back to Gabriel. “Credit where credit is due, you all seem to have survived my absence unscathed.” Castiel sips from his bottle with a smile. “I’ll have to abandon you more often.” 

“I’ll drink to that,” Dean says with a laugh, holding his own bottle in the air. “To Cas!” Everyone raises their various bottles and cups, liquids sloshing and spilling as they clink and toast.

“To Cas!” The room dissolves into laughter and chatter, Jimmy and Anna fighting over the last slice of pepperoni as Hannah squeaks and dives to avoid being hit with flying tomato sauce. Castiel watches as Dean squats down next to Manny, letting him proudly go over his test in detail, something he certainly didn’t get from his other siblings. Castiel’s heart has never been so damn full. 

Gabriel elbows him in the ribs and clinks the necks of their bottles together. “Happy for you, baby bro,” he says sincerely, which is rare enough for Gabe that Castiel pays attention, turning his head and nudging him back with his arm.

“Thank you, Gabriel,” he replies. He’s about to say more, but the festive atmosphere is interrupted by a sharp knock at the back door, the one right next to the kitchen table where everyone is sitting. The whole room freezes, eyes darting around to look at each other in confusion.

“Is anyone expecting company?” Castiel’s eyes shift between the teenagers before settling on Gabriel who shrugs with his arms up.

“Don’t look at me, all my people are midnight owls,” he insists. Castiel rolls his eyes and moves towards the door but before he can open it, the knock comes again and this time it’s accompanied by a loud, familiar voice.

“Cas! Cas, are you in there?” Castiel swings the door wide to find his longtime friend Garth standing there dressed in his full police uniform. He’s accompanied by another officer and a third man with ratty brown hair, his head tucked into his chest so that his face is hidden hanging precariously between them, one arm draped over each of their shoulders. “Sorry about this, Cas, but I didn’t know what else to do. He was down at the Alibi running his mouth and drinking until he fell off of his stool.” 

Castiel glances back at Gabe before furrowing his brow and shaking his head a little. “I don’t understand, who is this? What am I supposed to do with him?” 

Garth and his partner exchange glances as they shift the man’s weight between them. His arms are starting to slip, and Garth grapples clumsily for a handhold but doesn’t succeed, the man sliding out of their grasp and tumbling to the floor, half inside, half out on the back porch. Once he’s down, Garth grabs at his shoulder to roll him over, and it’s then that Castiel finally gets a look at his face. His eyes are closed and his beard is longer than Cas remembers it being the last time he saw him, but he’s unmistakable. Castiel’s seen this face in his dreams, in his _nightmares_ for over a decade now, it’s the reason his life is the way that it is.

His heart, the one that was feeling so full it could burst only minutes prior, breaks into a thousand pieces inside his chest. He can feel eyes on his back but you could hear a pin drop in the room around him. Nobody moves or breathes for what feels like an eternity, but in reality must have only been seconds. The blood roars angrily in Castiel’s ears and his vision blurs before clearing again. Finally, a chair at the table scrapes back as one of the kids makes their way to Castiel’s side.

“Dad?” Rachel asks quietly, her voice sounding incredibly vulnerable and small. Castiel reaches out blindly to put a hand on her shoulder. 

Chuck is home. 

***


	6. Pompeii

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Track:[Pompeii by Bastille](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=F90Cw4l-8NY)

_I was left to my own devices_  
_ Many days fell away with nothing to show_  
_ And the walls kept tumbling down,_  
_ in the city that we love_  
_ Grey clouds roll over the hills_  
_ bringing darkness from above_

The next several minutes are an uproar of yelling and arguing, everyone in the room with an opinion and all of them sure theirs is the only sane one in the bunch. Dean stands off to the side, bewildered, and Garth just shrugs his apology, his partner hightailing it out of there almost as soon as Chuck hit the floor. 

“Sorry to dump this on you, Cas, I know this must be quite the shock,” Garth tells him, his eyes and tone sympathetic and yet somehow still upbeat. Castiel blinks hard to clear his vision and shakes his head. His throat feels dry and swollen.

“How, uh… where...?” He looks up at Garth, at a loss. Garth’s one of them, of course he understands, he looks the other way constantly when it comes to their family (and especially his and Gabe’s questionable sources of income), but Castiel can’t help wishing just this once he’d played the part of a real police officer and thrown Chuck’s ass in jail where he undoubtedly belongs. Garth scratches his head and looks down at Chuck’s unconscious face. Castiel just feels ire that the asshole has the nerve to look peaceful. 

“According to Ellen, he just appeared at the Alibi this morning like he’s been there all along. He was telling everyone that he’s been in a Mexican prison for years. Something about how he was lucky not to become a victim of human trafficking. I dunno Cas, you know Chuck. He wasn’t making a whole lot of sense.” 

Castiel looks around in bewilderment. “I _ used _to know Chuck. I haven’t known him in years,” he says with a sigh. Garth shifts awkwardly in the doorway, eyes darting to the side to acknowledge something out of Cas’ line of sight, most likely his partner telling him to get a move on.

“Listen, if you really want me to, I can haul him downtown, let him sober up in a cell.” 

Castiel scoffs. “Why bother? It’ll only last until you unlock the door.” He rolls his shoulders and waves Garth off. “Thank you,” he forces himself to say. “You know that we appreciate it.” 

“Of course, friend,” Garth replies, far too cheery for the circumstances. “You need me to help you get him on the couch or upstairs or something?” Castiel considers for a moment before bending over and grabbing the front of Chuck’s shirt, hauling him fully inside over the threshold and dumping him back onto the floor with a loud _ thump. _Chuck, unsurprisingly, doesn’t react.

“Nope,” he says, when he straightens back up, brushing his hands off. Garth peers around him to wave at Gabriel, who gives him a few-fingered wiggle and a raised eyebrow back. He coughs.

“So uh, I know this might not be the greatest time but, you got any—”

“Oh for fuck’s sake,” Castiel interjects, shoving Garth back out the door. “Buy your weed at Saints ’n’ Sinners like every other asshole on this block.” He slams the door in Garth’s face and turns around to see Gabe giving him a reproachful look. He groans and lets his head drop back against the door before turning around and opening it again, smacking Chuck in the knee. He should probably be surprised to find Garth still standing there, a giant dopey smile plastered on his face, but he’s not. Castiel digs in his pocket and extracts a small baggie full of bud, shoving it into Garth’s chest. 

“Goodbye, Garth,” he deadpans. Garth raises the baggie in a faux-toast and disappears down the steps. Castiel slams the door again, turning around to face his now-quiet family with hands on his hips. 

“Go upstairs,” he tells them, excluding Dean and Gabe, and for once no one argues, quietly filing up the narrow steps that lead up out of the kitchen with curious backward glances. 

Dean looks back and forth between Gabriel and Cas, obviously confused and concerned. Finally, he speaks. “How the fuck are you even sure that’s Chuck?” He peers over the counter and tilts his head, probably trying to take ten years and a couple inches of beard off of the newcomer on the floor. 

Castiel runs a hand through his hair before vaguely gesturing at Chuck and dropping it to smack against his leg. Dean may not be sure, but he’d know Chuck anywhere. Instead of answering, he turns on his heel and stomps away up the stairs, Gabriel yelling after him.

“What are we supposed to do with him?” 

“Leave him there,” Castiel snaps back. 

***

Dean lets him alone while he talks to the kids and tries to explain that the unconscious guy in their kitchen is technically their father. Everyone except Rachel (and Michael, but fuck him since he can’t even be bothered to check in) were too young when Chuck left to retain any clear recollection of him, and that makes this whole thing a million times worse because _ they don’t get it_. Castiel knows from earlier discussions that Hannah has a few blurry memories, but none of them, not even Rachel, actually understand what living with Chuck is like. 

And how can Castiel break their hearts, the same way Chuck has already broken his a hundred times over? How can he sit down and look them in the eyes and explain that their _ father, _the man who should protect and provide for them at all fucking costs, is a deadbeat loser who’d sooner sell any of them for beer money than do a single honest day’s work? 

_ Over a decade in a fucking Mexican prison? And his first move was to go to the goddamn Alibi? _

Castiel can tell, even as he’s answering questions and trying to gently manage expectations, that this is going to be a fucking disaster. Even Jimmy looks wide-eyed and innocent, hopeful like he thinks he’s going to be able to crawl into Chuck’s lap and be read a story as soon as tomorrow night. In the end, Castiel leaves them to their own devices with a warning not to expect too much, and to take things slowly, assuming that Chuck is even still there in the morning when they wake up, but it’s obvious that they barely hear him. He trudges up the stairs to the attic and flops down face first on his bed. 

Not long after, he hears familiar soft footsteps and the door to his partitioned-off room close behind them, but he doesn’t lift his face from where it’s buried in a pillow. The iron frame of his bed creaks and probably threatens to collapse as someone sits down beside him, strong hands sliding up his back and massaging into his shoulders. His resulting groan is muffled by the pillow, but it’s still loud because Dean’s touch feels like _ heaven_.

“You need anything?” Dean’s voice is gruff and steady and devoid of any pity or bullshit, and Castiel is fucking grateful. If there’s one person on this planet who understands drunken, absent fathers, it’s Dean. He’s relieved to know he won’t need to do any explaining or justifying regarding his choice to let Chuck back in the house (for now) because Dean _ knows _ family is family, and he’s got a truckload of kids downstairs who are counting on him to try and make this work. He rolls over onto his back and stares up at Dean. 

“I’m going to have to go back to work,” he says bluntly, and Dean cocks his head to the side for a moment before the gears click and he understands. “I haven’t been,” Castiel continues. “I haven't _ wanted _ to, if I’m being honest.”

“Shit, then don’t, Cas, we can figure something out. I can help.” Dean slides a hand up under his shirt, letting it come to rest on his stomach and Castiel watches him carefully. “Don’t get me wrong, I got no problem with you doing your thing, but not if it’s making you unhappy. Cas, I’ve been there and buddy, I _ know _what it feels like. No one should ever have to fuck for money out of desperation.” 

“I didn’t say I _ don’t _ want to,” he replies defensively. “I said I _ haven’t _wanted to. I was just giving you a heads up. I owe you that much.” He lets his own hand come to rest over his shirt, Dean’s hand underneath. 

“You don’t owe me anything, Cas,” Dean says softly. “I love you, and all the bullshit you come with.” Castiel blinks, not entirely sure he’s heard Dean right, but the slight flush that colors his cheeks and the shy smile on his lips tell him that he did. He sits up and grabs Dean’s face, kissing him firmly. He stares into Dean’s eyes for a long moment after he pulls away.

“Just promise me one thing,” Dean says, taking his hand. “You don’t do shit you don’t wanna do, alright? You go to work and if you hate it, start wishing you were anywhere else on the planet, you bail out. Take it from another asshole who thought he didn’t have a choice. It’s not worth your soul, okay?” 

Castiel nods. “Of course, Dean.” He slides off of the bed and starts stripping, pulling off his shirt and stepping out of his pants, kicking off his Converse and socks. Naked, he steps forward and straddles Dean where he sits on the bed, a playful smile turning up the corners of his mouth. “In the meantime, perhaps you could show me what it should be like? You know, for reference.” Dean looks up at him through his lashes and licks his lips. “I want it rough, Dean,” Castiel insists. “I want you to wreck me, make me forget my own name. Will you do that for me?” 

“Fuck yes, Cas,” Dean breathes as he closes the space between them, Castiel aggressively coming the last couple of inches and claiming Dean’s mouth without hesitation. Dean doesn’t disappoint; he kisses like Castiel is precious air and threads his hand into his hair, pulling until it hurts. Castiel breaks away to throw his head back and moan, Dean taking the opportunity to swoop in and bite at his neck, suck at his pulse point, nip and tongue at his nipples. Castiel rocks down hard in his lap, grinding on his denim-covered cock and rubbing his own against Dean’s stomach. 

“_M__o__re,” _he demands, even though Dean’s fingers are already circling his hole. “More, Dean, please,” he begs, holding Dean’s head against his chest where he’s already leaving a smattering of purple love bites. 

With a grunt, Dean lurches forward and shoves his way up off of the bed, Castiel’s legs reflexively locking around his waist, arms around his neck as he stands and staggers forward to the closest wall that’s not a half-assed partition. He slams Cas’ back against it and ruts his hips wantonly up into Castiel’s groin. 

“Ugh, _ Cas,” _he moans, two fingers of one hand working their way in between his cheeks and shoving inside without pretense. 

“_ Yes,” _Castiel cries, rocking down on Dean’s hand and almost sending both of them crashing to the ground as Dean struggles to hold him up. Castiel’s hands are in Dean’s hair, twisting his head and tilting it up to meet his mouth, Dean’s already open as they come together, panting and desperate. Castiel licks in deep, doesn’t stop, bites at his bottom lip so hard that Dean finally loses his grip on his thighs. They tumble to the floor, Dean ending up laid out on his back with Castiel on top, but he doesn't stay there. As soon as they’re down he’s shoving Cas off, sending him sprawling, grabbing at the back of his head and jerking him up to kiss him again wildly. Dean pulls him back by the hair just like he pulled him up, pushes him to the floor and when he’s sprawled out half-sitting, half leaning back on his hands, gets down on all fours between his legs and swallows his cock like his life depends on it. 

Dean sucks and hums and swallows and Cas’ eyes roll back in his fucking head. He fists both hands into Dean’s hair and fucks his mouth, barely getting out a grunt of warning before he comes hard down his throat. 

As soon as he’s done, Dean’s pulling off and wiping the spit that’s covering his chin off with the back of his hand, shoving Castiel over until he’s face down on the floor. Dean’s belt jangles as he undoes it, not even bothering to get fully undressed, jerking Castiel’s hips back and against his cock so he can shove inside. 

“Oh, _ fuck _ yes,” Dean moans, and Castiel’s right there with him, the angle just right to be nailing his prostate at almost every thrust. His vision goes blurry with how deliciously overstimulated he feels, and that’s _ before _Dean gets a hand in his hair and jerks his head back, fucking into him wildly while holding on like he’s riding a mechanical bull. Castiel doesn’t even make the smallest amount of effort to stifle his moans, his dick blurting out cum he would have bet money he didn’t have left as Dean milks him dry. 

When Dean comes it’s a fucking avalanche, his thrusts driving Castiel forward into the floor, Dean’s body hot and heavy on his back, and it’s—_ fuck— _ it’s _ just what he fucking needed. _

Dean collapses beside him after he finishes, breathing like he ran a marathon and grinning like an idiot. Castiel slumps onto his side and lets out a hysterical little laugh. Dean looks over at him and his grin turns into a giggle, then a snort, and then somehow they’re both roaring with laughter. It’s truly ridiculous, both of them spread out on the hard floor completely losing it, Castiel buck naked and Dean with his softening dick hanging out of his jeans, tears running down both of their faces. It takes several minutes before Castiel even has a shot at regaining his composure, but when he does he finds Dean still gazing at him with a soft, happy smile on his face.

“I love you,” Castiel says simply, and Dean’s smile widens. 

“Well shit,” Dean replies, scooting over and letting Castiel take him in his arms. 

***

The next morning is peaceful. Castiel blinks awake just as it’s barely lightening up outside. Dean’s unconscious in his arms, though Cas’ stirring makes him sigh and snuffle closer, up into his neck. Castiel wraps cool arms that have been outside the blanket around Dean’s back and pulls him close, tangling their legs together and letting his eyes drift closed again. He floats in and out of consciousness for a while, still aware of Dean pressed against his chest, his warm breath soft against his skin. For the first time in Castiel’s recollection, the house isn’t loud and bustling with activity at the asscrack of dawn on a Saturday, and it’s _ fantastic_. He snuggles down deeper under the covers and kisses the top of Dean’s head.

The illusion is shattered by a loud _ crash _followed by angry voices that shoot through the floorboards and pierce Castiel’s hazy, semi-conscious dreamscape like knives through butter. He shoots out of bed and swipes a pair of boxer briefs off of the floor on his way out the door.

“Who? Wha?” A disoriented Dean jolts awake when he’s unceremoniously dislodged from his spot underneath Castiel’s chin, blinking dazedly in the morning light and sporting the most adorable bedhead. The covers pool around his waist enticingly and Castiel is going to _ fucking murder _whoever is preventing him from sliding back into bed between Dean’s legs and staying there forever. 

“Cas?” Dean calls after his retreating back, but Castiel ignores him, stumbling down the stairs with only one foot in his boxer briefs. He pulls them up and snaps them at his waist as he bursts from the door at the bottom of the attic stairs, the yelling twice as loud now. Rachel’s standing in the hallway, Anna and Hannah hanging onto the frame of their doorway behind her and the twins are lurking in the back stairwell that leads down into the kitchen. 

“Back in your room,” Castiel hisses as he stomps by them, Jimmy and Manny knowing that tone well enough to scatter without so much as a word of argument. Castiel clomps down the remaining stairs to find Gabriel holding Chuck in a headlock, trying in vain to grab something from where it’s clenched between his fists and cradled against his stomach. 

“You selfish motherfucker!” Gabriel roars, whipping Chuck around but failing to dislodge whatever it is he’s protecting. He finally lets go, sending Chuck tumbling onto the floor and rolling across the kitchen. “Cas!” Gabriel says. “Morning! How’d you sleep? Like a log? That’s what this asshole was counting on. Check this out.” It’s then that Castiel notices the fridge door is hanging open, and Gabriel is pointing inside. He steps forward and swings the door wide to discover that the fridge is completely full - of _ beer. _

“Yea,” Gabriel says. “And guess where the money for all that came from?” Without waiting for an answer, he shoves the coffee tin they keep on top of the fridge and use to save up for bills into Castiel’s hands. It’s empty. Rage bubbles up inside his stomach like he hasn’t felt in years. “He’s got like, twenty dollars or so in his hands,” Gabriel continues. “You wanna help me get it back?” 

Without a word, Castiel shoves the tin back at Gabriel and stalks forward, rolling Chuck over and straddling his chest on his knees. He pulls back and punches him square across the face, hearing a crack as his fist connects with Chuck’s nose. “You unbelievable bastard,” he growls, but the punch does the trick and Chuck’s hands open, dropping a few bills to the floor as he whines and covers his face. 

“I’m your father!” Chuck yells, blood dripping out of his nose and onto the cracked linoleum. “You should show me some respect! I did everything for you, this is _ my _house.” Castiel gathers up the dropped money, folds it, and shoves it into his waistband, where Chuck is unlikely to be willing to reach to get it back. He turns to look over his shoulder at Gabe. 

“Give me a hand?” 

Gabriel grins.“Thought you’d never ask, baby bro.” 

Castiel gets up and opens the back door before returning to Chuck’s side. He grabs under his arms, Gabe gets his feet, and on three they lift, letting the rest of Chuck’s scrappy body dangle between them. He smells like cheap whiskey, vomit, and unshowered man, the odor causing Castiel to gag a little as they make their way outside.

“This is for the last _ twelve _ fucking years,” Castiel growls, as they haul him through the backyard. He knows the kids are probably looking out the back windows by now and _ good, _let them. They don’t deserve this steaming pile of shit, no one does. When they reach the dumpster that sits on the edge of their property, Gabriel meets his eyes and counts off.

“One, two, three!” They swing and release, sending Chuck flying ass first into the garbage. 

“Fuck you, _ Dad_,” Gabriel spits. Castiel jumps up on the side of the bin and grabs Chuck’s collar again. The cocky asshole has the decency to at least look a little bit scared, and he flinches at the contact. 

“If you _ ever _ steal money that goes towards putting a roof over your children’s heads and food in their stomachs, I will _ end you. _” He emphasizes the last two words and pauses for effect before shoving Chuck off and back into the foul-smelling heap. He turns and walks with Gabriel back towards the house without so much as a backward glance.

“Hey,” Chuck’s voice comes from behind them, slurred and unapologetic, just as Castiel remembers him being all those years ago. “So can I come back in?” Castiel glances at Gabriel and sighs before throwing up his hand.

“Your room’s still empty. But you take a fucking shower first,” he calls bitterly over his shoulder. To Gabriel he says, “What the fuck are we going to do?” 

Gabriel shrugs. “Same thing we always do.” 

***

While Chuck passes out in his old room on sheets that haven’t been changed in over a decade, Castiel calls the beer distributor down the street and pleads with him to take the alcohol back. But the store has a no returns policy and the owner isn’t feeling generous, so all he can do is hang up on him aggressively. Not particularly effective on a smartphone, but such is life. By the time he’s done with that, it’s nearly time for him to go to Lowe’s, and he’s never been so uneasy about leaving the house before. He lectures the kids about not letting Chuck talk them into doing anything stupid and makes them hide anything at all they own that their father could pawn for more cash. Reluctantly, he gets dressed in his ugly blue vest and goes next door to find Dean, who’d gone home to change and check-in with Sam but promised to give him a ride to work on his way to the station. He’s working a night shift as a medic on the ambulance tonight so Castiel won’t even see him later, because clearly, this day isn’t going to have even one bright spot.

_ It’s probably for the best_, he tells himself. Castiel _ needs _ to go to work tonight, like it or not, and regardless of what he’d promised Dean the night before. No matter how cool Dean is with what he does to make money, he doesn’t need to see Castiel getting himself dressed and ready to be fucked by other men. The thought makes him cringe, which is a very new feeling. He wasn’t lying when he’d told Dean that he didn’t dislike his job (at least most of the time), and he’s unused to the icky feeling that’s creeping through his brain at the thought of another man’s hands on his body. It’s not about Dean at all, which is unfortunate, because if it was then he likely could reason it away. No, this is _ his _ issue. _ He _doesn’t want to be touched by anyone but Dean, and isn’t that a sobering fucking realization.

He shakes those thoughts off as he climbs the stairs to Dean’s back porch, running a hand through his messy hair and pulling out a one-hitter from his pack. He smokes it quickly to calm his nerves before knocking on the door and waiting for a Winchester to open it. 

Sam’s the one who answers. “Hey, Cas!” He says brightly, with a big smile. “Dean told me your dad’s back.” His expression turns empathetic and Castiel gives him a return grimace. Sam understands the situation as well as Dean does, there’s no reason to pretend with him. Castiel shakes his head and drops his hands to his sides like, _ what can you do? _Sam nods and turns, walking back through the kitchen and into the living room. He’s set up camp on the sofa there, stacks of paperwork and case files spread out all over the empty space on the couch and across the coffee table in front of him. He makes a face when he realizes that there’s nowhere for Castiel to sit, but Cas waves him off. “Sorry,” Sam says sincerely. “Dean should be down any minute.”

“Not a problem,” Castiel replies, drifting over to the wall where a picture is hanging framed, new since the last time he’s been here. It’s a photo of him, Dean, Sam and Gabriel in one of those cheap Intex above ground pools they’ve always had in their backyard. He and Dean look about ten, and the four of them are smiling huge, popsicle-smeared grins as they lean out of the water and pose for the camera. 

“Where did you get this?” Castiel asks. The frame looks worn, either Dean bought it used or this isn’t a newly-discovered photo. Sam looks up distractedly.

“Oh, that? Surprised he hasn’t shown it to you yet. Dean dragged that thing everywhere. Hung it up in every motel room we stayed in, every apartment after that.” Sam pauses and considers him for a moment. “I don’t think he ever stopped thinking about you, Cas,” he says quietly. A pang goes straight through Castiel’s heart at those words, and he turns to give Sam a warm smile.

“I believe I’m starting to get that,” he replies. 

Just then, Dean comes barging down the stairs dressed in his navy blue duty pants, a navy t-shirt with the paramedic emblem on it, and his work boots, a duffle bag slung over one shoulder. He’s freshly showered with crisp, gelled hair, and Castiel can smell his spicy aftershave from several paces away. He’s a sight for sore eyes and the smile on Cas’ face widens automatically. 

“Hello, Dean,” he says, as soon as their eyes meet. Dean strides quickly across the floor and into his space, cupping his jaw and kissing him solidly. His tongue flicks just barely along the inside of Castiel’s lip and he closes his eyes to just _ feel _for a long, wonderful moment. And for that frozen second in time, everything is right with the world. When Dean pulls back, his green eyes are sparkling and soft.

“Heya, Cas,” he says, not moving back an inch. 

Sam clears his throat and Dean grins, adjusting his bag and grabbing Castiel’s hand to pull him towards the front door. He claps Sam on the shoulder as he walks by. “Later, bitch.” 

“Jerk,” Sam replies, nose already buried back in his work.

Despite the circumstances, Castiel can’t help but be happy when he’s around Dean. While their little escape to the shore seems almost endlessly far away now, somehow so do all the issues with Chuck and money. When they’re driving in Dean’s car with the windows down and classic rock playing loud, all he can feel is the wind in his hair, the sun on his face, and Dean’s sweet smile focused only on him. The ride to Lowe’s is short, less than ten minutes before Dean’s pulling into the parking lot and guiding the car over to the few spaces painted in front of the gardening center. Castiel feels almost sick at the idea that he won’t see Dean until sometime tomorrow at the earliest, not to mention all of the things he has to do between now and then, whether he wants to or not. 

He catches Dean’s eye and shifts over into the middle of the bench seat, letting Dean wrap him up in strong arms and his clean, manly scent. Dean didn’t shave the two-day stubble on his face, and the scratchy drag of it against Castiel’s cheek makes his eyes prick with tears for reasons he’s not even sure he understands. He squeezes Dean tight around the shoulders, wishing for any excuse not to let go, but the moment passes and there’s no reason left to linger. Dean leans in and kisses him, careful and slow, and Castiel catalogs every second of it to replay as needed. Something must show on his face when he pulls away, no matter how quickly he tries to hide it. 

“You okay, sunshine?” Even Dean’s worried face is beautiful, the furrowed lines in his brow only highlighting what a handsome man he is. There’s no use in burdening Dean with his bullshit though, and Castiel nods, letting his hand drift down Dean’s chest as he presses their lips together one more time. 

“I’ll see you in the morning, maybe?” 

Dean nods, though he’s clearly still concerned. “Should be home around six-thirty,” he replies, and Castiel gives him his best forced smile before getting out of the car and carefully extricating his bicycle from the back seat. Dean looks like he’s going to follow after for a moment, but he seems to think better of it and puts the car into reverse gear, letting his arm drop out the window as he pulls back from the parking space. “I’ll miss you,” Dean calls out as Castiel reaches the entrance to the building. He turns back, and this time his smile is real. He blows Dean a kiss and watches as he drives away.

***

_But if you close your eyes,_  
_does it almost feel like_  
_ nothing's changed at all?_  
_And if you close your eyes,_  
_does it almost feel like_  
_you've been here before?_


	7. Take Me Out

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Track: [Take Me Out by Atomic Tom](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qjzrGBwmKeE)
> 
> ***  
Spoiler Warning in end notes regarding appearance of tagged items in this chapter.

_I don’t want to stay home,_  
_I don't want to stay here,_  
_I don't wanna live half my life and disappear._  
_So if you want to take chances,_  
_take a chance on me_  
_and take me out_

Work is uneventful, save for a bag of mulch exploding all over him towards the end of his shift. Disgusted and dirty, he pedals home as fast as possible down the side of the busy highway separating Lowe’s from the city proper. The night is warm with a nice breeze, and as he’s coasting into town he can see the lights of an ambulance maybe a half mile up ahead, parked on the side of the road with their reds flashing. It might be Dean’s, but it could just as easily be either of the other two ambulances that are staffed around the clock by the City. Castiel resists the urge to find out, banking a left and letting gravity take him down the hill and under the train tracks, back into his neighborhood. The street goes up again on the other side and he stands to pedal against gravity, sweaty and tired enough to crash for the night by the time he turns onto his street and coasts to a stop in front of his house. 

He hauls the bike up the stairs and inside the front door, leaning it in its usual spot and walking into the living room to find everyone gathered around the TV.

“It’s fucking Saturday,” he says. “Don’t any of you have lives?” 

Rachel turns to look at him like he’s nuts. “It’s not even ten o’clock, Cas. Parties are just getting started. Anyway, Dad said if we stuck around we could share his beer.” 

Fighting down the urge to argue about the use of _ Dad _when it comes to Chuck, Castiel just rolls his eyes. “How generous of him,” he mutters, starting up the stairs. “Let me know if that beer was worth it when we can’t pay our heating bill in January.” 

“Cas,” Hannah calls after him, and he turns to see five sets of eyes trained on his face. “Give him a chance, would you? He says he’s sorry. Says he’s gonna do better, that we’re gonna be a real family now.” 

For a teenager, Hannah looks so young. Castiel would easily mistake her for thirteen, fourteen, if he didn’t know better. She’ll be the kind of person who gets carded until she’s forty, at the rate she’s (not) aging. And right now, that innocent face and those of his other siblings, all staring up at him for permission or forgiveness or whatever it is they want, aren’t something _ he’s _going to be responsible for putting tears on. Chuck will, and eventually, he’ll have to clean up that mess, but he can’t make them see the reality of what their father is if they aren’t ready. He knows that hard truth first-fucking-hand. 

And so he sighs and smiles, and shrugs. “Sure,” he tells Hannah. “I hope you’re right, baby. Where is Chuck, anyway?” 

“At the Alibi,” Manny pipes up. “He said he’d be back in an hour.” Internally, Castiel cringes, but he keeps his thoughts to himself this time.

Anna tucks her hair behind her ears and reaches out a hand towards the stairs, and him. “Come join us, Cas? Don’t go hole up in your room. Hang out with us, please?” Castiel tips his head in apology.

“Wish I could, I’ve got a shift at the club.” _ Shift at the club _has been his own codeword for his second job for as long as he’s been doing it. Judging by Rachel’s narrowed eyes, she’s broken it, but she doesn’t say a word and none of the other kids react in any type of way except disappointment. 

“Can I sleep in your room tonight?” Anna asks, and he nods with a smile.

“Of course,” he says with a wink. “Be right back.” 

He doesn’t give them an opportunity to ask any more questions, just takes off up the two flights of stairs to his room. He grabs a towel and his usual outfit for _ work_; tight ripped jeans and a tight black t-shirt. A handful of condoms to shove in his pockets. Packets of lube, just in case, though he spends a lot more time on his knees. A knife, for the inside of his boot, also just in case. And a wallet that straps to the inside of his thigh under his pants, for safekeeping of his cash. He grabs a fresh towel and heads down to the bathroom, showering quickly but thoroughly and shaving everything that needs it. Personally, Castiel thinks he looks like a baby without _ at least _some five o’clock shadow, but the fresh look brings in the customers, so who is he to argue? He artfully spikes his hair, dresses, and moves to leave, but after a moment’s hesitation steps back to the mirror and rims his eyes with Rachel’s black liner. It’s a little gimmicky for his taste, but he needs the money and he’s been around this block enough times to know what sells. 

He steps off the stairs and into the kitchen just in time to hear a knock at the back door. “I’ll get it!” he calls out, not that anyone in the family room so much as budges. Upon opening the door, he finds Sam, laden down with an overflowing laundry basket and a pinched expression.

“Hey, Cas,” he says, attempting and failing to make his double-take at Cas’ club-ready look appear casual. “Uh, listen, I know Dean said you guys could use our laundry machine, but do you think you could make sure the clothes actually find their way back to your place? I’ve been moving teenage girl underwear from the washer to the dryer for weeks now and—”

“Say no more,” Castiel cuts him off, reaching for the basket and carrying it over to their own busted washing machine for folding. “I’ll take care of it. Come in, Sam. Grab a beer, we have plenty.” 

“Um,” Sam glances back towards his house and Castiel smiles a little at his awkwardness. 

“We don’t bite,” he says softly, opening the fridge himself and removing two beers, popping the caps off on the counter before handing one over to Sam. “You and I used to be friends.” 

“Sorry,” Sam replies, his face flushing a little. “It’s not that. I mean, it’s not you.” He steps in and closes the door, sinking into one of the chairs strewn around the kitchen table and pushing floppy bangs off of his forehead. He sighs, and slumps back, taking a long swig from his bottle. “This firm I signed on with, they want me to land a client of my own. Something reasonably challenging. How the hell am I supposed to do that?” 

Castiel raises his eyebrows from where he’s returned to folding the laundry. “Pardon the sarcasm, but look where you are, Sam. There’s no shortage of people needing good representation around here.” 

Sam tips his bottle in acknowledgment. “This is true, but they don’t trust me. No one who can afford this firm is going to hire some wet behind the ears, fresh out of school _ kid. _I got into this to help people like us, Cas. You know? I grew up here, I know what it’s like, how people fall into shit they don’t mean to. I just want to help, but no one’ll give me a shot.” 

Castiel puts down the pair of pants he has in his hands and picks up his own bottle, taking a sip. “For whatever it’s worth, if I were in legal trouble, you’d be my first choice,” he says with a playful grin, and that makes Sam crack one of his own. “But I can’t afford the big guns.” 

“You’re such a dick, Cas.” He drains his beer and stands to drop it into the trash can. “I better get back to it.” Sam starts for the door and then stops. “Hey,” he says, pointing at the counter. “Is that our toaster?” 

“Oh, look at the time, I’ve gotta get to the club, let me walk you out.” Castiel ushers Sam towards the door without acknowledging his purloined appliance, simultaneously calling over his shoulder, “Be good, all of you! In bed by midnight.” A chorus of protests follows him out the door, and then soon, he and Sam are parting ways as Castiel turns to head out towards the street. “Good luck, Sam,” he calls out. “If it helps, I’ll do what I can to spread the word.” Sam nods and raises his hand, letting the screen door of the Winchesters’ back porch slam shut behind him. 

Castiel sets off down the road. The club he uses as a base of operations isn’t all that far, ten blocks or so straight down his street and over one. It’s a shitty club, but it’s Balthazar’s and that means a level of safety and protection from the cops that he can’t get out on a street corner. As he rounds the bend, he can already hear the pumping bass and the rowdy crowds spilling out from inside. He sighs, gathers his courage, and forces himself to walk through the front door.

_ You can do this. _Of course he can, he’s done it a thousand times before, it’s nothing, it doesn’t mean anything. It’s just a service, a transaction, no big deal at all. 

He thinks about each of his siblings in turn and how they deserve so much better than this shit life his mother and Chuck left for them, how Castiel _ owes _ it to them to provide _ at least _the low-quality substitute he’s able to, reminding himself that this is how he does that. He thinks about winter, and what it was like last year when they couldn’t get the money together to pay the heating bill in February. All of them huddled around an old propane heater in the family room, on the verge of carbon monoxide poisoning and shivering under blankets despite shared body heat. 

_ Fuck that, _ he thinks angrily. _ Not on my watch, not if I can help it. _ He thinks about Hannah’s boots falling apart in January, Jimmy and Manny outgrowing their winter coats, Anna’s lips turning blue during the walk to school because the wind chill is negative four and they can’t afford clothing that protects against that. He thinks about subsisting on ramen and cereal for weeks on end, what it’s like when there’s no hot water because the duct tape on the water heater just isn’t cutting it anymore, and every single time he has to tell the kids _ no— _to birthday parties, extracurriculars, field trips, you name it. 

_ This is nothing, _he tells himself, and after all that, he believes it.

He resolutely does not think about Dean or the vibration of his phone in his pocket that he knows is surely a message from him. 

Unflinching, Castiel steps inside the darkened club, the flashing neon and strobe lights making everything look less dirty, less shitty than it is. Within three minutes he’s clocked three regulars and made eye contact with two of them, so far so good. He makes his way to the bar and Balthazar’s there, thank God. He’s an easy and predictable two hundred dollars because he’s in love with Castiel, and that’s his own fucking mistake. Plus, he owns the place, which means free liquid courage, and that’s no small perk if Castiel’s going to try to do this without shooting up. 

_ Shit, _he thinks, when he realizes he’s forgotten his weed, thanks to that distraction with Sam. He contemplates going back for it, but weighs that against losing the customers who have already set eyes on him and can’t find a way to justify it. 

Well, there’s always Gabriel. He scans the crowd and spots his brother in a back corner, tucked away in a VIP booth talking to some guy Castiel doesn’t recognize. Good, at least he’s working. He turns back to the bar and Balthazar is in front of him, ready with a shot of whiskey and what he certainly thinks is a dazzling smile. Castiel almost feels a little bad as he accepts the drink and clinks it against Balthazar's own. He’s not a bad man by any means, and he’s good looking enough. He’s just… well, he’s not Dean. And unfortunately, that bar was set over a decade ago and no one’s managed to move it since. 

The liquor burns as it flows down his throat, but the ache is pleasant, and he motions Balthazar for another. The quirked smile on his face reminds Castiel that these drinks are by no means free, and pretty soon he’s following Balthazar down a side hallway into his office. He clicks the harsh overhead light off in favor of a low-watt lamp on his desk, and Castiel is already regretting not hitting up Gabe for weed before coming back here. 

“Cassie,” Balthazar says, now that the door is closed and the music is drowned out enough for both of them to hear each other. Castiel usually finds Balthazar’s melodic accent attractive, even soothing, but tonight it grates. 

“Hello, Bal,” he replies, forcing a smile. “I don’t suppose that you have any weed back here?” Balthazar looks at him sideways before shaking his head and rightly so, Castiel is off his fucking game.

“It’s so good to see you,” he says anyway. “It’s been too long.” 

“Only a few weeks,” Castiel hedges. “I’ve had a lot on my plate. But, I’m here now.” Balthazar nods and hesitates, looking down and playing with a container of pens on his desk.

“You know, my offer still stands, Cas. I would love to take you out properly, have a nice dinner, some good wine. Have you given it any more thought?” Castiel winces and does his best to look apologetic.

“I… actually, I’m seeing someone,” he admits. “You know him, Dean? Dean Winchester?” Balthazar’s eyebrows go up, and he doesn’t even pretend not to be shocked.

“Dean Winchester? I’d heard he was back in town but I didn’t… well, that’s… congratulations, Cassie, I wish you all the best.” His tone says otherwise, but this conversation is uncomfortable enough without Castiel pointing out obvious things that they’d both rather ignore. “So, I suppose you came to tell me you won’t be available anymore?” 

Castiel blinks, he hadn’t considered that Balthazar would assume he was quitting the lifestyle. “Oh,” he says. “No, that’s not…” He flounders, searching for the right words. “Dean doesn’t care,” he settles on, knowing as it comes out exactly how lame it sounds. “I really need the money,” he adds, playing up the sad eyes and the lip-biting he knows Balthazar is a sucker for. 

“Hmm,” is all Balthazar replies at first, studying him carefully. “I must admit, it’s upsetting that your new beau doesn’t take better care of you. You could do so much better,” he insists, his eyes dark. 

“Perhaps.” Castiel pacifies him, and steps towards the door, as if he’s going to leave. “I understand if you don’t want me, considering. I can—”

“I didn’t say that.” _ Yahtzee. _Balthazar sits down on his swiveling desk chair and unbuckles his pants. “Come,” he says, gesturing to the space between his legs. It makes Castiel’s hands itch, but he doesn’t ask Bal to pay upfront, he’s the only customer that gets away with that. Castiel kneels between spread thighs and pulls a condom from his pocket, moving to tear it open with his teeth but Balthazar stops him with a hand around his wrist. “I’ll give you double to go without,” he offers, his stare intense and unwavering. 

Castiel hesitates. That’s a _ good _ offer, and if circumstances were different, he knows he’d throw caution to the wind and take it. “I can’t,” he says eventually, and Balthazar’s eyes narrow. Castiel wishes once again and more than ever that he was high. _ What a night to forget the weed. _He worries for a moment that Balthazar is going to make a scene or push him into doing something he doesn’t want, but in the end, he simply releases Castiel’s hand and sits back, hands moving to the armrests of the chair. 

Castiel swallows and finishes unwrapping the condom. His mouth is dry, his tongue feels thick, and he’s not sure he’s ever felt less sexy in his entire life. The taste of latex in his mouth doesn’t help things, either, but he closes his eyes and bears it, pulling out all the tricks he knows to get Balthazar to finish as fast as possible. The whole thing is awful and forced, and Castiel feels vomit rising in his throat several times. When he’s _ finally _ done (even though it can’t have been even fifteen full minutes), Castiel wipes his mouth and stands, waiting while the other man puts his outfit back together and pulls out his wallet. 

“I’m sure I don’t have to tell you that this was disappointing, Castiel,” Balthazar says, and while his tone isn’t unkind, it’s firm. “I appreciate our little arrangement but I can’t continue to pay for a service you aren’t delivering.” Castiel’s eyes fix to the ground and he nods, his cheeks burning. 

“I… I understand,” he manages. “It’s just an off night. Next time will be better.” Balthazar hums and hands him a few folded bills before leaving the office and Castiel alone. He counts the money; eighty dollars. _ Shit. Shit. _

_ This isn’t going to work, _ he realizes. He’s either got to get high or find a new way to make money, but there’s no _ fucking _ way he can push through multiple repeats of that humiliating performance. At this point, he’s not even sure weed will be enough, is almost positive it won’t be. _ Alright, _ he tells himself. _ Call it a night. Talk to Dean in the morning, make a plan. _That’s reasonable, it’s going to have to be. He needs to make money, and he can’t do it without the drugs. Dean will understand, Dean will help him be safe.

He pushes through the throngs of happy, drunken partiers towards the exit of the club, the tinted doors swinging open as he approaches and revealing a heart-stopping glimpse of red and blue flashing on the other side. On instinct, he looks back towards the corner of the club where Gabe had been sitting, only to find him gone. His heart in his throat, Castiel pushes open the doors and steps outside to see one of his worst nightmares come to life, his brother face down on the hood of a cop car, wearing cuffs.

“Gabe!” He calls out, frantic. He rushes forward only to be stopped by Garth and a steady hand on his chest.

“Cassie!” Gabe yells back at him, but Garth keeps him from moving any closer.

“Fuck _ off, _Garth!” He says angrily and tries again to get past him.

“Cas,” Garth says patiently. “You can’t help anyone if you get arrested for assaulting an officer.” Castiel glares, but he knows his friend is right. It’s not Garth’s fault, whatever went down here, the guy’s only ever helped them out. “Listen,” Garth continues. “He’s being charged with possession with intent to distribute. This is a big deal. He won’t get in front of a judge until the morning, but I’ll make sure he’s seen first thing. There’s nothing you can do tonight, okay? Go home, get some sleep and come down to the courthouse around eight to make bail.” Garth lowers his voice so that only Cas can hear his next words. “I’m sorry, man. I tried to warn him, but neither of you were answering your phones.” In a stomach-dropping moment of clarity, Castiel realizes that the message he was ignoring earlier wasn’t from Dean at all. _ Jesus fuck, could this day get any worse? _He swallows and nods.

“Can I get a minute with him? Just one,” he pleads, and Garth looks around uncertainly before relenting.

“Just one,” he warns, holding up a finger. “Make it fast.” He lets Castiel through and the cop holding Gabriel down yields to Garth, letting Gabe up and stepping far enough away for plausible deniability.

“My room,” Gabriel says firmly, with a pointed look. 

“I got it,” Castiel replies. “I’m so fucking sorry, Gabe. I’ll be down there first thing to bail you out, I promise.” And then all of a sudden, like an actual light bulb bursting on inside his head, he has what might be his first good idea of the night. “I just thought of something,” he says. “Sit tight, don’t say _ anything. _I’m going to get you a lawyer.” 

The sound of Gabriel’s confused,_ “What the fuck?” _ is lost beneath the slap of Cas’ busted sneakers on the broken concrete as he takes off down the street, heading for home as fast as his legs will carry him. 

***

Castiel skids to a stop, chest heaving as he tries to catch his breath, halfway between his house and the Winchesters’. He can hear laughter and music drifting through his own first floor windows alongside the sound of Chuck’s voice, and he’s honestly not sure how he feels about breaking that up with bad news. For now he walks on, hoping Sam is still at home and awake as he jogs up the stairs and raps on the front door. Thankfully, the lights go on behind the curtains in the window, and approaching footsteps follow shortly after.

“Sam,” he breathes, completely relieved when Dean’s shaggy-haired little brother opens the door, squinting and with a crease on his cheek that suggests he may have fallen asleep on top of his work. “I may have found a solution to your caseload issue.” 

Two strong cups of coffee between them and a summarized recounting of events later, Sam is pulling on the jacket to his suit, prepared to head downtown and go on the record as Gabriel’s attorney. Castiel waits as he locks up and then walks Sam out to the beater Honda he’d purchased since arriving back in the city, biting back a grin despite the circumstances as he remembers the insults Dean had hurled at it. He reaches for the passenger side door, but Sam stops him.

“There’s really no point in you coming down to the courthouse tonight, Cas,” he says, not unkindly. “You won’t be able to see him or talk to him, bail won’t be set for at least another…” He checks his watch, “Seven hours? If that?” 

Castiel folds his arms. “I wouldn’t feel right just sitting here,” he protests, and Sam raises his eyebrows, glancing up towards the house. 

“If what you told me inside is true, you won’t be just sitting here.” Castiel stares blankly and Sam sighs. “Gabe’s room?” He reminds him, and Castiel sheepishly realizes he had completely forgotten. 

“Ah,” he says, “You’re right. I suppose that is slightly more pressing, should they decide to execute a search warrant.”

“I doubt they will,” Sam replies, an attempt at reassuring that doesn’t quite hit its mark. He chews his lip. “They’re probably hoping he’ll roll on his suppliers, whoever’s at the top of his chain.”

“That would be Kali,” Castiel supplies, and Sam sticks his fingers in his ears.

“La la la, didn’t hear that. Point being, if he doesn’t flip—and I’m going to go out on a limb here and assume he won’t—then the charges will stick, but that should be the extent of it. Uh, not to rub salt in the wound, but what exactly is the plan for bail? I’m going to try and argue it down but Gabriel has no real job and no provable ties to the community. I mean, besides the kids—”

“You can’t bring them into it,” Castiel replies sharply, his eyes narrowed. “CPS will be knocking on our door before noon, they’ll take them away.” Sam reaches out and squeezes his shoulder.

“I know, Cas, I was about to say the same thing, that we can’t use them as a reason Gabriel won’t run. Which means I probably won’t be able to get ROR. I expect you’ll need ten thousand, which is ten percent of a hundred k, and the fees for an ankle monitor, at the very least. Can you make that happen?” 

Castiel furrows his brow. “Fuck no,” he answers, with a shake of his head. “But Kali might be able to.” Sam sticks his fingers in his ears again and moves around the car to the driver’s side.

“Didn’t hear that,” he repeats, “I’ll call you when there’s something to know, alright? Try and get some rest, Cas, Gabe is gonna need you.” 

Castiel swallows thickly and nods, waving as Sam’s tail lights fade into the inky night. With great reluctance, he turns and faces his house, dragging his feet up the stairs and pushing his way in through the front door. 

“Cas!” Anna’s voice rings out over the noise of a party in full swing, and her ear-to-ear smile accompanied by the racket of everyone else’s cheers (_even Chuck’s) _ at the sight of him makes Castiel feel a _ little _less exhausted, and a lot more sad about the bomb he needs to drop. Anna flings her arms around his waist and hugs him tight, Castiel allowing himself a long moment of comfort and solace from his little sister. He kisses her head and pulls away gently to make his way over to the CD player blasting on the coffee table, planted there among ashtrays and empties. He hits the power button to a chorus of protests and groans.

“C’mon Cas, don’t be like that,” Jimmy complains loudly, and Castiel waves him off. 

“Gabriel’s in jail,” he says simply because there’s no reason to sugar coat it. 

The mood drops immediately, everyone disregarding their drinks and smokes in favor of crowding him and demanding answers. Castiel does his best to recount the story for his second but certainly not last audience tonight, this time including the part about Sam coming to Gabriel’s rescue and his own intention to see if Kali can help with bail. When he’s done, the room goes quiet, everyone sinking into chairs and attempting to process this depressing turn of events.

“Thing is,” Castiel continues. “We’re _ fucked _now, royally where it comes to money. Best case scenario is that Gabe gets probation and some fines, but even then, he’s going to have to lay low for a while. Rachel, any chance you could see if the bodega can step up your hours?”

“I’ll check first thing tomorrow,” she replies with a nod.

“Hannah? Anna?”

Hannah answers. “We’ve been helping Missouri at her home daycare, she’s taking on a bunch more weekend kids during the summer and some of the parents asked if we’d babysit some nights. I didn’t think you’d want us to, but—”

“Good,” Castiel tells her, giving her what he hopes is a warm smile. “You’re doing great. Tell those parents you’d love to. Hourly plus dinner, that way you get a meal out of it too.” The girls nod. “Jimmy? Manny? Door to door, starting tomorrow. You know the drill.” 

“We’re wondering if you have any jobs you need done around your house? We’re trying to save up for a special birthday present for our older brother who works so hard taking care of us and never buys anything for himself,” Jimmy recites dutifully. 

“Or?”

“Charity, we’re raising money to buy socks for the homeless. It’s a school project to teach us about community,” he adds, elbowing Manny. “Religious fuckers love that shit.” 

Castiel nods. “And Chuck?” Chuck looks up from where he’s been carefully studying the label of his beer bottle. He looks around to find all eyes on him and grins.

“I run this household,” he says confidently. “I cook and clean and slave away so all of you can have a nice warm place to sleep at night.”

“First of all, it’s summer. More importantly, your job is to stay out of the way and _ not _attempt to scam any of the kids out of their hard-earned money,” Castiel warns, and Chuck scowls.

“That’s not a very respectful way to speak to your father,” he replies, accidentally knocking over the bottle from where it’s perched between his legs, spilling its contents all over the floor. 

“Mmm,” Castiel replies. “Alright, I need to go clean out Gabe’s room.” He takes the stairs two at a time, ignoring Chuck’s complaining about no one helping him clean up or offering to get him another beer. Cas hasn’t even fully crossed the landing between the two staircases when the music gets flicked back on downstairs and the party resumes. He sighs, but he can’t blame them. It’s not as if this is the first time one of them’s been locked up, thought it might be the most serious. He grabs a garbage bag from under the bathroom sink and ascends the steps to the attic.

Gabriel’s room is locked, of course, but Castiel picks it with one of Rachel’s bobby pins that he keeps above his own door frame for just such an occasion. The door swings open easily and reveals a hedonistic mess that surprises him exactly not at all. Bongs and other drug paraphernalia litter Gabe’s otherwise sparse dresser, a giant bowl of candy looking as out of place amongst them as a toddler in a meth lab. Castiel clears it all; tossing drugs and tools alike into the plastic bag without hesitation. He opens drawers and checks under Gabe’s mattress, gathering up all sorts of incriminating evidence and bagging it all. He doesn’t stop until he finds a big ziplock with tape around it, individual baggies and syringes tucked inside, and he stops short. 

After his conversation with Dean that night, he’d tossed the remainder of his smack, flushing it down the toilet with barely the blink of an eye. He hasn’t so much as seen any since, didn’t even know Gabe was selling it anymore, since he mostly deals in weed, coke, ecstasy--the feel good stuff most club-goers are looking for. It shouldn’t surprise him, though, it’s not as if there isn’t a market, and Gabriel is first and foremost an opportunist. He moves to put the entire parcel inside the trash bag but pauses, and ends up setting it aside. Castiel finishes tossing Gabriel’s room, and after a second look at the candy dish that results in him dumping the entire thing into the trash bag (_just to be safe)_, he returns it to the semblance of messy order it was in when he arrived. He locks up and hauls the trash bag out into the hallway, locating and prying up the two loose floorboards in the middle with a screwdriver. He feeds the bag into the space underneath, nestling it well into the hole before covering the space up again and securing the boards back in place. 

When he’s finished, he dusts off his hands and stares at the ziplock bag of H that’s now sitting innocuously in the middle of his bed. 

He shouldn’t. 

He should flush it.

He should call Dean.

He should call Kali. 

He should go check on the kids, yell at Chuck, call the police station and demand an update, _ eat _ something, send an email to his boss at Lowe’s asking for more hours, _ anything _but close his door and lock it, sit down on the bed and extract one of the smaller baggies from inside the big one. 

Castiel stares down at the little parcel in his hand for what feels like only moments and an eternity at the same time. He thinks about blowing Balthazar, tastes the memory of latex in the back of his mouth, remembers how _ awful _it felt, how difficult it was just to get through it. He thinks about everything that made him get on his knees for Balthazar in the first place, how his family is ten times worse off now than they had been when he’d walked into that club earlier, and before he really knows what he’s doing, he’s got a spoon in his hand, drugs in the bowl, a lighter and a syringe at the ready. 

As much as he’s sure he knows his own limits and trusts Gabriel not to sell shit that’s cut unsafely, taking this step, actually _ jumping _ off of this cliff is never easy. The high is good, sure, but Castiel’s _ smart, _ he knows how easy it would be to succumb, to get carried away and never be able to claw himself back. He finds himself torn between the fear that he’ll let his family down because of drugs and the fear that he’ll let his family down because he couldn’t provide for them like a _ man, _ like a father should. Like _ his _father should have.

Angry at himself, at Chuck, and at the world, Castiel grabs his water bottle off of the nightstand and pours a little into the spoon before melting the powder into it using the lighter underneath. With practiced hands, he ties off his arm with a belt and draws the sludgy liquid up inside a new syringe. Before he can lose his nerve, he punctures a vein and shoots it. 

The rush is warm and golden, pleasant heat flowing up his arm, crashing through his head like a wave, and trickling down throughout his entire body. Castiel groans and flops back on the bed, dropping an arm over his eyes and basking in how _ good _ he feels, how happy. All of his worries and cares float away, he’s an island; nothing can touch him. He considers drifting off to sleep but somehow remembers there’s a _ thing _he’s supposed to do. 

Struggling to his feet, he floats across the room and manages to shove all the gear into a drawer, tucked carefully away beneath his underwear. When he locks the door to his room, he can barely feel his fingers. They’re numb and tingly, and he watches as they carry out his brain’s wishes without his actual influence. 

_ Fascinating, _he thinks. 

Castiel doesn’t remember saying goodbye to his family or walking down the street; the next thing he’s aware of is standing in front of the club, blinking into the neon lights. It’s late, probably close to last call, but he spots one of his regulars walking out to his car and the man waves. Castiel’s barely there when the man approaches and speaks to him, but he must manage to say the right thing because he follows when Castiel rounds the side of the club and slips into the alley around back. The ground looks damp but he can’t feel a thing when he kneels, not even the gravel he knows on some level should be there, hurting his knees. He’s drifting so hard that he forgets a condom, but the guy remembers, crouching down and reaching into Castiel’s own pocket to pull one out. 

When he sucks the guy off, Cas can barely feel him in his mouth, but he pulls out all the stops anyway, or at least he thinks he does. He’s pretty sure he’s enthusiastic, does his best to hum and make noise, look up through his lashes, and do all of those things men seem to like when they get blown. The man seems happy, gives him fifty dollars and shoves him up against the brick when he’s done with a sated smile, palming the front of Castiel’s jeans and pleased with whatever the fuck he finds there. Castiel just lets him, smiles and says he’ll _ be around, _and the guy takes off into the night.

After he’s gone, Castiel stumbles towards the back entrance of the club, wrenching open the emergency exit that’s never been alarmed and floating his way through the remaining late night club-goers, the throb of the bass-heavy music distant in his ears. The pulsating lights distort his already hazy vision, making it difficult to focus and turning all the people around him into darkly colorful blurs. As he tries to navigate the space, he gets swept out onto the dance floor, letting himself be dragged and absorbed into the mess of writhing bodies, one indistinguishable from the next when everything is just varying shades of light and sound. Hands pull at his hips, his shoulders, and Castiel dances, stumbles, lets whoever wants to grind on his body, move his limbs wherever they see fit. Without any conscious effort to do so, somehow he ends up on the other side of the crowd, steadying himself against a pole and managing to focus just enough to remember that he’s on a mission.

He finds Balthazar still behind the bar and jumps up on it smoothly, landing on his knees before hopping down to the other side and grabbing his target by the belt. The space behind the bar is dark as a cave, and the neon strobes only illuminate Balthazar’s face properly in flashes of pink and green, amplifying the darkness behind his eyes and the hungry expression of want he’s wearing. Castiel pulls him towards the office in the back without hesitation. 

Balthazar fucks him face down on his desk with a hand gripping his hair and Castiel _ performs. _ He moans and meets him thrust for thrust, lets the drug coursing through his veins absorb it all, lets it wash away the pain and shame and self-hate and replace it with _ blissful nothing _. 

Balthazar turns him over when he’s done, kisses his mouth, tucks hundreds in his pocket as Castiel’s eyes struggle to stay open where he’s laid out naked from the waist down on the hard surface. His mouth feels like cotton, his body heavy, detached, as if it doesn’t even belong to him. 

_ He’s not really here. Balthazar doesn’t know, he’s not really here. _ Stars float across his vision and all he can see is _ Dean. _

_ He loves Dean. _

Balthazar tells him he’s perfect, and Castiel can’t feel a fucking thing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter warning for on-screen Cas/others (working, NOT cheating) and explicit drug use in this chapter.


	8. Edgy and Dull

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Tracks:[New York by Snow Patrol](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mIlNguMTPXI)  
[I'm On Fire by Bruce Springsteen](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lrpXArn3hII)  
  
Warnings (for tagged items) in the end notes

_The lone neon lights, and the ache of the ocean,_  
_and the fire that was starting to spark._  
_I miss it all, from the love to the lightning,_  
_and the lack of it snaps me in two._

Strangely, it’s not the light beaming down on his face or the discomfort of the hard ground on his back that wakes Castiel the next morning. No, that would be the sound of a slamming back door and Dean frantically calling his name. Castiel groans and rolls over, knocking his head into something smooth and not quite hard, not quite soft. He rubs his eyes and forces them open, blinking blearily against the early morning light that makes the slight ache behind his eyes blossom instantly into a full-blown hangover. Tilting his head, he realizes it’s the side of the vinyl pool he’s bumped into, and a vague recollection of collapsing against it to rest before attempting the steps of the back porch at a still-dark hour returns to him. He doesn’t remember much after leaving Balthazar’s office, but the bulge of cash in his left pocket suggests that the bar owner wasn’t his last encounter. Castiel moans and drops his face into the cool grass as the sun disappears, blocked out by a body standing over him. 

“Cas?” Dean’s voice sounds worried, and that’s the last fucking thing he needs right now, so he waves his hand dismissively and forces himself upright. When he opens his eyes again it’s not just Dean he sees, but Jimmy too. Dean crouches down and Jimmy towers over him, backlit by the angry sun. “Cas, what are you doing out here?” Dean asks gently, threading an arm under Cas’ own and hauling him to his feet. 

“Rough night,” Castiel manages, his voice sounding and feeling like sandpaper as he reaches out to ruffle Jimmy’s hair reassuringly, though his hand gets shoved away. 

“Shit, Cas, even Dad made it back inside last night,” Jimmy chastises, sounding a lot more like the adult in this situation than Castiel’s comfortable with. He blatantly ignores Dean’s concerned eyes and scrubs a hand over his face to hide how out of it he really is. As his brain starts to wake up, the earlier events of the previous night all come flooding back, a messy mix of _ Gabriel _ and _ Sam _and all the things he was supposed to do but didn’t.

He breaks away from Dean’s grip and stumbles towards the house, jamming his fingers into his pocket for his phone. _ Dead, fuck. _

“I need to—Gabriel, Dean, will you loan me your phone? And give me a ride down to the courthouse? I can’t believe… shit, I completely forgot…” 

“Cas,” Dean calls after him, helplessly, but Castiel’s already shoving his way through the back door, mentally cataloging the thousand things he needs to do, starting with figuring out how to bail Gabe out. 

Which is why it’s a hell of a bucket of cold water over his head when he bursts into the kitchen to find Gabriel shoving a donut into his face, Kali draped around his shoulders, jelly filling smeared across his cheek. 

“Mornin’ little bro. Where’d you stash the goods? Kali’s here to collect while I’m…” he turns to his girlfriend and wiggles his eyebrows, getting an eye roll in return. “Indisposed.” 

Castiel closes his eyes and shakes his head, wondering if Gabriel’s presence is some kind of wishful thinking hallucination left over from the chemical high he’s been swimming in since last night. 

“Gabriel, how? Shouldn’t you be—” 

“Sam!” Gabe reports enthusiastically. “Smart cookie that sasquatch turned out to be. I gotta wear this fancy new piece of jewelry—” He lifts his leg onto the chair next to him and indicates towards the flashing red light on the box of an ankle monitor, “but thanks to your man’s little bro, I might not even have to do jail time.” Kali clears her throat pointedly and raises her eyebrows. “Oh, right. And Kali put up the bail money. Take note, baby brother, sugar mamas are _ everything _they’re cracked up to be.” He grins and leans in to kiss Kali, leaving a streak of powdered sugar behind on the corner of her mouth. 

Licking his dry lips, Castiel makes for the kitchen sink and after a moment’s hesitation, forgoes the cup and just sticks his face under the running water. 

“Whoa,” Gabriel remarks. “The hell happened to you?” 

Castiel lets out a small, pained moan and ignores him, resting his cheek on the side of the sink. “Where is Sam now?” 

“Catching some shut-eye,” Gabriel replies, pushing his chair back from the table and coming over to his side. “Listen, Kali came to collect, but I told her I wasn’t sure what you did with the gear.” 

Draping the drying towel over his face, Castiel mumbles a half-coherent reply. “Loose floorboard between our rooms. Big bag.” 

“Nice,” Gabriel replies with a jarring slap to his back. “Back in a flash.” Castiel drops his face onto his arms on the counter and groans again. 

“I need to make lunches,” he says when a familiar presence wraps an arm around his shoulders and tries to pry him vertical. 

“Already did,” Dean murmurs softly. “Teeth are brushed, clothes are Febreezed, everyone is ready to go. School lets out for summer today anyway, Cas. C’mon, let me take you to bed.” He tugs on his arm and _ God, _Castiel wants nothing more than to curl up beside him, but his head is spinning and his body feels disgusting. He has to tell Dean about the heroin, he deserves to know, but at the same time, he can’t think of anything he wants to do less. He pulls away from Dean’s grasp and heads for the stairs, dragging himself up and into the bathroom where he runs the water steaming hot. Standing underneath it and then scrubbing himself raw washes exactly none of the bad mood he’s in away, and all he wants to do is tuck himself under the covers and sleep. 

So of course, when he finally staggers into his room, clad only in boxers and with hair still so wet it’s almost dripping, Dean is waiting. He’s dressed down to a t-shirt and shorts like he’s wanting to stay, while looking about a thousand times more awake than Castiel can ever remember being at the moment. 

“I thought we had a deal,” Dean says, folding his arms across his chest in passive accusation. He’s not quite confrontational, but he’s not exactly backing down, either. 

"Not now, Dean,” Castiel mumbles tiredly, closing the door behind him before crawling into bed and pointedly facing away from Dean’s grumpy face. 

There’s a beat, and then Dean’s warm body pressing up against his back, legs twisting between his own, soothing away the crawling sting of irritated muscles that are already craving more heroin. 

_ I’m not an addict, _ Castiel tells himself. _ It’s just temporary, just until I have enough money to get us through next winter. _

“Please don’t do this,” Dean whispers into the back of his neck. “Cas, please, you’re not fooling anyone. Do you think I don’t know what coming down looks like?” There’s silence between them, but Dean’s arms only tighten around his middle. Castiel thinks he feels wetness in-between his shoulder blades where Dean’s face is pressed, but what the fuck is he supposed to say?

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs, unmoving as Dean’s head shakes a vehement _ no _into his back. 

“Don’t be sorry,” Dean pleads. “Just don’t do it again, alright? Cas, let me help you. Please Cas, I can’t lose you to this. I know things look bleak right now, but we’ll get through it. You just have to lean on _ me _instead of the drugs. Cas, I love you so much.” 

Tears and pressure prick behind Castiel’s eyes, and he buries his face into the pillow. 

“You don’t understand,” he says, pretending as hard as he can that he doesn’t notice Dean’s shaking, quiet sobs into the space between them. 

***

Despite Dean’s pleas for him to stop, Castiel starts shooting up nightly. At first, he’s determined to continue his regular routine in the mornings, checking on the kids and putting together lunches for wherever each of them is headed that day, starting the laundry and doing a load of dishes before heading to bed. That lasts all of one whole day, when he stumbles home sometime after six in the morning, completely forgetting about the fact that Gabriel is stuck at the house full time now.

The walk home that morning is blurry, but he doesn’t end up unconscious and pressed against the pool again this time, at least. Castiel unlatches the front gate and pauses, gazing up into the second floor window of the house next door, where a light has just flickered on. Dean must have just arrived home after an overnight shift at the firehouse. He hadn’t been there the night before when Castiel had gotten high again, so there hadn’t been any further argument. In fact, they really haven’t spoken much at all since yesterday morning, and even in his slightly fuzzy state, Castiel still feels guilty about that. Dean had only been trying to help, it wasn’t his fault Castiel didn’t want it, _ couldn’t _want it, didn’t have the luxury of being able to want it. 

Because truth be told, he _ does _ want it. He wants nothing more than to close the gate, wander over to Dean’s side of the fence, be let inside the house and curl up for the rest of the day on a soft bed inside big strong arms. He _ wishes _it were as simple as taking Dean’s money, letting his willingness to provide for Castiel slap a bandaid over everything and just call it a day. At this point, he’d like nothing more than to never have to see the inside (or outside) of that fucking club or Balthazar’s self-satisfied face again, save for his nightmares. 

But Dean left once before, and there’s so much more riding on this than just what _ he _ wants, out of this day, and out of life. If he counts on Dean’s money and Dean _ leaves _ or decides he doesn’t want to help anymore or gets fired, or whatever other circumstantial thing causes his money to dry up and disappear, it’s _ Cas’ _family that’ll be up shit creek without a paddle. There’s no reserve squirrel fund right now, nothing to fall back on save for what Cas has managed to rack up over these past two nights. And that amount isn’t even enough to pay the property tax bill they deferred payment on a couple months ago, never mind Gabriel’s inevitable court fees, probation costs, on and on with no end in sight. 

What he _ wishes _ more than anything that Dean knew, is that Castiel’s rejection of monetary assistance has _ nothing _ to do with _ want. _ Fuck, he _ wants _ to accept that offer more than anything he’s ever known in his entire life. In fact, he _ wants _ more than that. Wants to pack up and run away with Dean and never look back. Wants to say _ fuck it _ to his responsibilities and toss his siblings to the wolves to fend for themselves, ungrateful little bastards that they frequently are. He _ wants _ to go back to school, to become a chef, to work a _ real _ job and have a steady, reliable source of income that doesn’t require an illegal chemical high just to get through a shift. He _ wants _to not be risking his life and his body and his freedom, all in the name of making fucking ends meet.

But he loves his family, _ needs _ to do better for them than his biological father and _ Chuck _ did. This whole situation goes so far beyond _ want _ that the idea doesn’t even factor anymore. Dean is a good man and Castiel loves him, that much has never been in question. But as he stands there with one hand on the rusting iron gate and watches him come to stand in front of the window, looking down at something Castiel can’t see, his heart burns in his chest at how much love is not enough. Love doesn’t fix shit when it comes to the real world. Doesn’t put money in your pocket or food in your fridge. It’s fleeting, it _ leaves, _ and Castiel won’t be made a fool of again. Won’t allow himself to depend on something that’s out of his control, that he can’t be _ sure _will be there to lean on when push comes to shove and the going gets tough. It’s not that he thinks Dean will leave, or that he doesn’t trust him, but that’s not the point. That’s never been the point. He just can’t allow himself and his family to rely on something that’s not actually in his control. 

Castiel pushes the gate open and stumbles forward, dragging himself up the steps and through the front door. His addled brain works to compile a list of morning tasks, and he’s headed to the kitchen to get started on breakfast when he’s brought up short by something that makes his drug use and fucking in public for cash look positively normal by comparison. 

Gabriel in an apron. Gabriel, in an apron, holding a giant bowl of batter and a fucking whisk. 

“Hey, baby bro!” He grins and Castiel blinks, sure _ once again _that he’s finally lost it, that he’s definitely hallucinating this time. Perhaps he’s actually asleep in an alley several streets back and never made it home at all, because that would definitely make more sense than what he’s currently witnessing. He squints and tries to speak to the hallucination anyway.

“What are you doing, Gabriel? It’s six AM, shouldn’t you be… I don’t know, wasted? Unconscious?” Gabriel raises his eyebrows and looks him up and down.

“Seems like you’re doing enough of that for the both of us,” he replies, though his tone isn’t malicious or cruel. “I was bored! Turns out being stuck in this dump twenty-four-seven is actually a pretty solid punishment. Plus, I gotta pull my own weight around here. You’re bringing in all the cash, least I can do is be you while you do. Not everything has to fall on your shoulders, Cassie.” He turns back into the kitchen and Castiel follows, his shock only increasing when he sees a small stack of perfectly cooked pancakes already piled on a plate next to the stove. 

“I wasn’t aware you could cook,” he says, and Gabriel shrugs, pouring batter into the hot pan.

“Gotta keep that shit on the down-low,” he explains, waving the spatula around in the air and sending little drops of batter flying. “Can’t have Kali knowing I can take care of myself. She might stop washing my undies if she realized I won’t actually destroy them _ and _the washer doing it on my own.” 

Castiel shakes his head and rubs at his tired eyes. “Alright, well, I’ll wake the kids.”

“Already done, Rachel has a shift at the store, she already left, took some pancakes to go. Hannah and Anna are getting ready to head out to Missouri’s, and Jimmy and Manny can sleep in as long as they want, they can go scam for odd jobs any time. Probably not a great idea to knock on doors at seven in the morning.” 

“No,” Castiel replies distractedly. “Perhaps not. Bills, then? Isn’t the water and sewer due?”

“Rachel took it with her, she’s dropping it off on her lunch break.” 

“Chuck?”

Gabriel laughs. “He’s terrified of Kali. Ran out of here like his ass was on fire after she threatened to hang him by his nuts for raiding the money can. Plus there’s the whole thing with the cops… He yelled something about ‘never going back there,’ as he took off down the street. Apparently he’s hiding out at Becky Rosen’s house.”

“The agoraphobe that never goes outside?” 

“That’s the one… Chuck says they have _ a thing, _I didn’t ask questions.”

Gross. Castiel’s not touching that one with a ten foot pole. He changes the subject. “Dishes?” He asks, even as his eyes flit over to the sink and see that it’s clean. “Lunches?”

“Cas,” Gabriel groans, turning around with an annoyed look on his face. “I’ve _ got _this. Go to bed, you look like hell.” He turns back towards the stove and then pauses. “Better yet, go next door and sleep with that man of yours. He’s walking around looking like a kicked puppy.” 

Castiel scratches his head and averts his eyes. “I’m not positive that he wants to see me right now.” Gabriel looks over his shoulder and makes a face.

“You don’t actually believe that, do you? This some form of self-imposed punishment? Cas, he’s just worried.” Gabriel looks down at the pan again before continuing. “And, you know, it’s not like he’s wrong.” Castiel makes an affronted noise to which Gabriel tips his head and holds up a silencing hand. “It’s not like I have room to talk, bro. I’m just saying.” 

“Yes, well, I’d prefer if you didn’t. None of you will be ‘_ just saying’ _anything beyond complaints about how cold and hungry you are in the middle of the winter if I don’t do what must be done.” 

Gabriel turns off the heat to the stove and faces him, hands on his hips. “Cas, not once have I told you what you should or shouldn’t do. All I’m saying is that there’s a man next door who cares about you, and there’s a houseful of people here who do too, and _ none _of us want to see you get hurt.” 

“I’m fine,” Castiel replies shortly. 

“Yea? Then go next door and tell him that.” Gabriel crosses the kitchen and starts up the stairs. “No buts!” He adds, cutting any reply Castiel might have come up with off at the head. 

He stalls in the kitchen for a moment longer, picking a still-steaming pancake up off the top of the stack and eating it with his hands. Surprisingly, it’s not bad. He’s somewhat torn between attempting to sit down and eating a bunch more and just passing out where he stands, his eyelids becoming heavier by the second. In the end, he decides that Gabriel is right (_ and briefly scans the sky outside the window for flying pigs)_, throwing his hands up in resignation and relinquishing the household to his brother for the time being. 

The walk from his back porch to Dean’s feels endlessly long, and he fights turning back (and laying down where he stands) every step of the way. He doesn’t knock because he can’t stand the thought of the door being closed in his face when he’s come this far. It’s unlocked, thankfully, so he slips inside, Sam nowhere to be seen. He ascends the steps and approaches Dean’s cracked door quietly, pushing it open and wincing as it creaks. Dean’s sitting on his bed facing the windows and away from him, and he doesn’t turn around at the sound of the door opening. 

“Sam?” He says. “What’d you forget?” 

Castiel just stands there silently until Dean looks, and when he does, his eyes are puffy and red. He’s clearly exhausted but he jumps up immediately, crosses the room and pulls Castiel into his arms. “I worried all fucking night,” he murmurs into his hair. “Didn’t think I’d see you today.” 

Castiel buries his face in Dean’s chest, his muttered reply half-muffled by cotton and skin. “Didn’t think you’d want to see me.” Dean’s arms tighten around his shoulders as he huffs a breath, the exhaled air hot against the side of Cas’ head. 

“You’re so fucking stupid, Cas,” Dean replies, pulling back to frame his face with warm hands. “You hear me?” There are tears in Dean’s eyes again, and Castiel is just way too drained for any of this. 

“Can we sleep?” He asks, already moving away and towards the bed. He kicks off his shoes and strips down to boxer briefs without waiting for an answer, but Dean just nods and climbs into bed on the other side. They settle together, Dean tucked into the crook of Castiel’s neck, and Castiel couldn’t even begin to guess which one of them needs the comfort of the other more right now. He pulls up the sheet and comforter and starts to drift almost immediately, but Dean doesn’t, busying himself with dropping soft kisses to Cas’ neck, his collarbone, anywhere he can easily reach from where he lies. His hands skate over Castiel’s skin, no point in their movements other than to soothe and reassure. 

Castiel snuggles closer and does his best to return the favor, his hands clumsy and probably not moving half as much as he thinks they are over Dean’s back. The last thing he remembers is Dean humming softly in his ear, the melody to a song he doesn’t recognize. 

***

The sudden burst of sound that is Dean’s alarm going off jolts Castiel from a dead sleep, Bruce Springsteen blaring relentlessly from the tiny speakers. 

_Sometimes it's like someone took a knife, baby, edgy and dull _  
_and cut a six-inch valley through the middle of my soul._  
_At night I wake up with the sheets soaking wet,_  
_and a freight train running through the middle of my head_  
_Only you... can cool my desires_  
_Oh, oh, oh, I'm on fire_

The music stops when Dean finally finds the button, but the air has new tension in it, the kind that’s been missing between them for a while now. 

“Time’s it?” Castiel looks over at Dean, who’s stretching with one hand and holding his phone above his face with the other. The yellow light leaking in between the cracks in the curtains suggests it’s late afternoon, which means that was Dean’s alarm to get ready for work. They slept over nine hours, all wrapped up in each other. It’s long enough from his last hit that Castiel’s muscles are starting to get a little twitchy, anxious for their next fix, despite the fact that he usually doesn’t shoot up until around ten at night. Perhaps that should be worrying, but his mind is on other things. 

“Four-thirty,” Dean replies, his voice low and heavy with sleep. He clicks his phone off and rolls over to face Castiel. His fingers trace over Castiel’s bicep gently as he leans forward and kisses his mouth. It’s soft and sweet and makes Cas’ eyes flutter closed for a second. “I have a little time,” Dean whispers. “Dunno how you feel about taking your work home with you, but… if you want me, I’m yours.” 

Surprising even himself, Castiel laughs, shoving at Dean’s shoulder and kissing him back playfully. “Shut the fuck up,” he tells him, a grin cracking his face. “That’s not funny.” 

“Made you laugh,” Dean points out, and Castiel shoves him again. 

There’s a strange push-pull between them as Dean lets his body be jostled away and then rocks back again, Cas’ hand fisted in the front of his shirt as their smiles fade, eyes meeting in an apparent standoff neither had any awareness of entering. Dean’s eyelashes blink slowly against his cheeks, long and dark and so beautiful it makes Castiel’s breath hitch in his throat. Neither of them moves an inch, afraid to disrupt the current of electricity flowing between Cas’ hand and Dean’s chest that feels tenuous, as if one wrong move will cause it to snap and toss them back into the space where they’re worlds apart from each other, so close and yet completely out of reach. Castiel’s cock stirs in his pants and for the first time in _ days, _ he feels like he’s actually _ inside _his own body, in control of its functions and not just subsisting, empty and numb to everything around him. 

But not anymore, not in _this _moment. 

For Castiel, it feels like the world goes absolutely still around them, like the calm that descends right before a massive thunderstorm. If there are cars passing by outside, kids screaming, birds chirping, he doesn’t hear them. Everything outside of the little bubble that is Dean’s spectacular bed, right down to the low hum of the window-unit air conditioner, seems to freeze and turn silent. They’re alone in a space where _ nothing _ can touch them, where they only belong to each other and nothing, _ no one _can come between them. 

The wired tension between their bodies breaks for no reason at all as Dean’s mouth drops open slightly and Castiel can’t take it anymore, needs to _ feel _ him, needs to _ see _ him, needs to get his mouth, his hands, on every part of Dean’s body _ right fucking now _ or he’ll spontaneously combust. 

_ Or maybe implode, _ he considers almost hysterically, turning over the idea of his body collapsing in on itself to create the supermassive black hole from which nothing can escape that he _ already _ feels like he is. Sucking in light and joy and giving back nothing to the universe except endless, inky, inescapable _ black. _

But that’s not what Dean sees in him, it’s _ never _ been what Dean sees, and without the stain and rush of chemicals coursing through his veins, he _ remembers. _Lying here next to Dean, his hand still twisted in the soft cotton fabric of his shirt, Dean’s perfect, gorgeous green eyes look straight through his own and into his soul. 

_ Here, _ in this space, Castiel’s _ wanted, _he’s cherished, he’s forgiven. 

They surge forward at the same time, mouths meeting and clashing _ too rough _but neither of them stops nor complains. Dean’s teeth knock against his and then they’re biting, pulling his bottom lip between them, letting go only to press forward again insistently to push his mouth open wide, to lick inside, hands sliding across his ribs and around his back to drag him in, pull him close, hold him tight. Castiel gets his own arms around Dean’s shoulders, threading a hand up into his hair and palming the space between his shoulder blades with the other. Locked together in the endless loop of each other’s arms they hang on, push things neither of them can figure out how to say into each other’s mouths with tongues and lips and air from their own lungs. 

“I love you,” Castiel gasps when Dean’s lips slide away to kiss down the side of his face, to press _ love _ and _ want _ and _ hope _ into the skin of his neck. “Please know that Dean, I—” He’s cut off by Dean’s mouth covering his fiercely, his arms locking around his back, the increased pressure pushing their groins together in a way that hides nothing. Thank fuck, Dean is _ hard _against him, thank fucking God he wants him too. 

Dean pushes back, sits up long enough to yank his t-shirt over his head before coming back down and kissing Castiel again like he’s been gone for days and not mere moments. Dean slides newly freed hands up his arms, kisses across his chest while he does, each press of lips more tender, sweeter than the last. Castiel feels breathless, like the hand of God has reached down his throat and stolen it away, struggles to take it all in, to catalogue, to memorize the feel of Dean’s skin brushing against his, the smell of his body; of petrichor and leather, and the way his tongue catches a little as it drags across his chest. 

Their underwear comes off, Dean shoving at his own and then Cas’ in turn until the clothing tugs free over hips and knees, getting caught around ankles and lost underneath the covers as they’re finally kicked away. Right away, Dean’s sliding down his body, starting at the bony joint of Castiel’s ankle and working his way up, kissing and sucking gently, leaving behind a wake of love bites that show where he’s been. He doesn’t tease, he palms Castiel’s cock right away, making his hips buck up in search of more friction, in search of Dean’s touch. That same hand squeezes his balls as Dean nips at the soft, sensitive skin of his inner thigh, moving up and over to lick where his hand has been, to suck Cas’ balls into his mouth and release them, leaving him panting and reaching for Dean’s head, for something, _ anything _to hold onto. 

Castiel arches off the bed, sits forward to grab Dean’s face and pull him up tall, to steal air back from his lungs and kiss him senseless. He tugs him up and pushes him over, gets between his legs and returns the favor of kissing every inch of skin that’s within reach, _ everything. _The soft fold where his upper arm meets his torso, the inside of his elbow, the dimple next to his knee. The dip in the middle of his chest, the freckle that sits just below his belly button, the crease of his groin and the tip of his cock. 

Dean fumbles through the drawer in his nightstand, manages to come up with a bottle of lube, a luxury they’ve rarely bothered with before but Castiel gets it, wants every bit of this to be as smooth and sweet and perfect as it has been so far. Dean spreads his legs and presses the bottle into Castiel’s hand, tucking arms behind his head and lifting his hips in invitation, and _ what an invitation it is. _Castiel warms the tube in his hand before squeezing lube directly inside him, shivering himself when Dean hums and clenches visibly at the cool sensation. But he smiles, reaches out to grasp Castiel’s chin, to pull him down and kiss him over and over and over again. 

Castiel manages to get lube on himself too, just to be safe-- no burn or drag today, just _ them, _ just happiness, just pleasure _ . _ He slides his forearm underneath Dean’s shoulder for balance and leverage, the other wrapped around his cock as he lines himself up and pushes in without pretense. He licks and nips at the shell of Dean’s ear, whispering affection and praise as Dean sighs and moans, his eyes fluttering closed and his lips parting around the prettiest noises as he lets Castiel inside. When he opens them again, his pupils are hazy but his face is relaxed and _ so, so _ full of love. It brings Castiel up short, makes him wonder what’s mirrored in his own expression, if he’s as equally easy to read, if Dean _ knows _how much he treasures this, how much he needs and loves him. 

He’s said so, but has he said so enough?

“Move, sweetheart,” Dean murmurs, voice husky and full, snapping Castiel out of his distracted wonderings and back into the moment. He’s all too happy to oblige Dean’s request, rocking his hips to thrust slow and deep, one hand wrapped around Dean’s hipbone and the other still clutching at his shoulder. Dean’s thighs bracket his body, his lower legs drape around him, pulling him in and encouraging him on. They’re face-to-face, gazes locked and breath mingling between them, the build slow and hot and intense. Dean’s cock slides between them, neglected, but when Cas moves his hand to touch Dean slaps it away, shaking his head. He shifts Castiel’s hand to the side of his face instead, holds it there until Cas dips his head down for an open-mouthed kiss. 

That’s how Dean comes, eventually, cresting over the peak of his orgasm almost lazily, his eyelids drooping shut as breathy moans escape from his lips and Castiel tries to swallow them all. His cock pulses as it rubs between them, releasing milky white across both of their chests. 

Seeing Dean come like that feels almost like a religious experience, and Castiel knows right then that nothing in this universe will ever measure up to this, to _Dean_. He tucks his face into the crook of Dean’s neck and holds his cheek where Dean asked him to, fucks him a little harder and faster until he’s coming inside, tears burning as they spill out of his eyes and onto Dean’s skin, holding him so close and so tight like he thinks if he can _just _hold on a little longer, this won’t actually end. 

But it does end, and the bubble bursts as the world comes rushing back in. Dean’s backup alarm on his phone beeps angrily, the shrill staccato tones ripping both of them straight out of the make-believe pocket universe they’d been so happy and safe tucked inside together. Dean turns it off quickly and grabs Castiel’s face, kissing him softly and trying to reel him back in, but it’s too late, the moment is gone. 

Castiel swallows heavily as Dean holds their hands between their chests. He looks Castiel in the eyes and kisses his knuckles, carefully, like Castiel didn’t just fuck him within an inch of his life.

“Would it mean anything to you if I asked you to stop? Again?” His question is honest, sincere, and without judgment and _ God, _Castiel wishes that changed anything.

“Of course it means something, Dean,” Castiel replies softly. “It means everything. But that doesn’t make it an option.” 

***

After kissing Dean a bittersweet goodnight, Castiel opens the door to his own home and is hit by a wave of delicious smells accosting his nose. The mixed scents of Italian spices, garlic, and cooked meat mingle together and make his mouth water as he pulls the door shut behind him and wanders further into the kitchen. Gabriel’s bent over the stove again, just like he was this morning, and Castiel has an odd sense of deja vu to see him there as if it’s only been minutes and not hours since they’ve been in each other’s company. Losing time that way is quickly becoming an unwanted theme in his increasingly messed up life.

Jimmy and Manny come tearing into the kitchen, shoving at each other and arguing about something Castiel doesn’t have the patience to tune into. He ignores them and peeks around Gabe’s shoulder, reaching into the giant bowl he’s holding to pluck out a meatball from where it’s nestled amongst sauce and spaghetti. 

“I’d slap your hand, but mine are full,” Gabriel warns, yanking the bowl away and snapping his teeth instead when Castiel attempts to reach in again. “Fuck off!” 

“Chuck still at Becky’s?” Castiel speaks with his mouth full of meatball, sucking the sauce off of his fingertips unapologetically. 

“Far as I know,” Gabriel replies with a shrug.

“Cas!” Manny exclaims, interrupting them by tugging on his shirt. “Where have you been, anyway? Look, me and Jimmy made forty-three dollars today.” He holds up a fistful of bills and drops them into Castiel’s hand. “For the new squirrel fund,” he says proudly. 

“And a new and improved hiding place,” Castiel murmurs to himself while Gabriel grunts his agreement. “Go wash your hands, both of you.” He shoos Jimmy and Manny off before glancing at Gabriel, who’s dropping the bowl of pasta off on the table. “Any ideas?” 

Gabriel pulls the ravaged coffee tin off of the counter and hands it over. “I’ll leave that one to you,” he says. “You’re the one with all the money.” Castiel accepts the can and drums his fingers on the side.

“Yes,” he replies. “I suppose that’s true.” 

Gabriel leans against the counter and crosses his arms over that stupid apron. “Rach and the other two should be back any minute, you wanna grab us a couple of beers? Or smoke a bowl before we eat?”

“Uh…” Castiel hesitates, eyeing the stairs. “You know, I ate at Dean’s, I think I’m good for now,” he lies. “I’m gonna go grab a shower, get ready.” The look on Gabriel’s face tells Castiel he doesn’t believe a thing he’s saying, but he doesn’t call him on it, just lets him go with a reproving look as he starts up the steps. 

The guilt swims up once again in the back of his mind, reaching and clawing and doing its damndest to drag him down and keep him there, but Castiel does what he’s learning to do best and pushes it down, locks it away where it came from. _The kids are fine, _he tells himself, and God knows he’s the one he has to convince. _Gabe has got this, _he tries again, and that thought, at least, appears to be true_._ But it’s not reassuring enough, and the guilt reaches tentacles out again, refusing to be ignored. When common sense and reasoning don’t work, even though he’s only talking to _himself, _inside his own damn head, he starts to get angry. How many meals has he eaten with his siblings while Gabe was out running around town, doing whatever it is Gabe does when he isn’t restricted by an ankle monitor and the threat of jail? _Thousands_, _probably_, he thinks. _They won’t even miss me_. 

The hot water’s been running for several minutes by the time he realizes he’s just standing there, staring into space.

He showers quickly and then heads to his room in only a towel. It’s still early, _ way _ too early to head to the club, but his fingers are itching and the drug under the floorboards in his closet is calling his name. If he shoots up now, he’ll need a booster around midnight to get him through the night and once again, that thought should put him off but it doesn’t. He busies himself with gathering the supplies he’ll need for work and then picking out an outfit before laying down on his bed and trying his hardest to _ not _think about getting high. 

_ It’s just for the job, _ he tells himself. _ You’re only using it to get through the night. _

His eyes pop open defiantly, the nine hours of sleep he’d gotten earlier preventing his body from even considering the idea of napping. Distantly, he can hear his family talking and laughing, the sounds floating up through the floorboards, and he knows he should get up and go down there. He gets as far as pulling on underwear and his jeans before his feet are carrying him to his closet, almost against his will. 

_ There’s no choice here, _ Castiel finds himself repeating in his own head as he kneels down on the hardwood. _ This is just part of what I have to do. So what if I’m not working until later? I shouldn’t have to feel like shit in the meantime. I’m all that’s standing between my family and starving to death, freezing to death. _The truth is, it’s not even a lie. He’s still got a long way to go in order to replenish the money Chuck stole, some of which they haven’t even accounted for yet.

The floorboards come up and Cas portions out a hit from one of the small baggies into the bent spoon tucked in there with the rest of his gear. _ Powder, water, heat, stir. _Pretty soon he’s securing a disposable latex glove that he’s figured out how to turn into a better tourniquet than his belt around his upper left arm and pulling it tight. Anna’s laughter reaches his ears as his fingers find a vein and push the needle inside. His thoughts drift briefly back to Dean and how much he wishes he were still with him inside their little bubble, but real life is calling and Castiel’s muscles are already twitching with need. 

The drug flooding into his veins is fast and instant relief, washing the memories of Dean and his family away as it rushes through his body, warm and heavy. He sighs and slumps back against his bed, passing out with the needle still in his arm.

***

“_ Dammit, Cas!” _Gabriel’s frustrated voice breaks through his empty, dreamless sleep and he swims to the surface of consciousness vaguely aware that the side of his face stings like hell. He opens his eyes just in time to see Gabe’s hand flying at him, flinching away so that it strikes his shoulder instead of his cheek, presumably not for the first time.

“Ow, what the fuck, Gabe?” He mumbles, rolling away from the bed and onto the floor, his stiff shoulders protesting every movement. Gabriel just stares at him, incredulous.

“I thought you had this shit under control, Cas,” he hisses. “This is not…” He picks up the needle from where it clattered to the floor and dangles it between his thumb and forefinger like it’s dirty. Castiel supposes it is, at this point. Who knows what’s swimming around in his blood these days? “This is the _ opposite _of under control!” 

Castiel uses his hands to push up off of the hard floor, wiping drool off of his face and the smear of blood from the crook of his elbow. “I’m perfectly fine, Gabriel,” he insists. “I was just…”

“Yea, yea,” Gabriel cuts him off. “Who do you think you’re talking to, cupcake? I’ve heard every junkie excuse in the book and made up a few myself. So what, you steal this from my room?” He gestures to the floorboard that’s still popped loose, revealing Castiel’s hidden stash. Castiel does his best to summon up an appropriately guilty, abashed face and directs it at Gabriel, who sighs. “Jesus, Cas.”

“Are you going to take it?” Castiel asks, already plotting in his head how much it’ll cost to get it back versus how much he’ll make at the club using it, but Gabriel shakes his head no.

“Not like you won’t find more someplace else,” he scoffs. “Or go right down to Kali’s and buy it back. She hasn’t said anything about it so she either doesn’t know or doesn’t care, either way returning it’s gonna end up costing _ me _ money, so… no, I’m not gonna take it.” He sits back on his heels and points a scolding finger in Cas’ direction. “But _ you _need to get your shit together. What if one of the kids walked in on you like that?” 

“M’sorry,” Castiel mutters, and he is—that’s the last thing on the planet he wants to happen. “I thought I’d locked the door.” 

“Yea, well. Seems like you think a lot of things these days, Cas. Not sure any of them are rooted in reality.” Gabriel pushes to his feet and tosses him the needle. “Hope you know what you’re doing,” he warns.

“Me too,” Castiel replies softly.

After Gabriel leaves, Castiel checks the time on his phone and finds it to be an hour before midnight. A later start than he’d hoped for, but nothing he can do about that now. He takes another hit, smaller than the one he’d shot earlier, and packs the gear away back underneath the floorboards before heading out. 

He’s in a routine now; get high, wander down to the club, make contact with his regulars, dole out blowjobs and handjobs in the back alley. It’s all become a dark blur of latex and neon lights, rough hands shoving him down to his knees, grabbing his hair, coaxing his jaw wide. Castiel doesn’t care so long as he can’t feel it, so long as he can close his eyes and float away, leaving behind his body to do whatever it is bodies do when someone demands something from them. 

Balthazar’s last, he’s always last, because he demands the _ most. _ But he also pays the best, hundreds of dollars a night to bend Castiel over and take what he wants. He seems content to buy into the fantasy so long as Cas is willing to sell it with a smattering of well-placed moans and sighs, eternally ignoring the indisputable fact that Castiel’s never once been hard, never once even made an _ attempt _ at finishing alongside him. Balthazar’s _ never _ loved him, he just _ wants _ him. And so Castiel endures, face down on his desk, his eyes fixated on the mug full of novelty pens that all say _ Saints ‘n’ Sinners, _watching them rattle back and forth as he’s rocked into the hard surface from behind. 

It’s all fine, because he’s not really here. He’s not really anywhere at all. 

Things go on that way, day in and day out, for several weeks. Castiel goes through the motions of his regular job at Lowe’s, and thankfully no one there seems to notice anything off about him at all. It makes him wonder why he hasn’t been shooting up all along, since everything is so much more pleasant when high, and no one aside from Gabriel and Dean seems to care. At night, after he clocks out, he usually cycles home and shoots up for the second time that day before wandering down to the club and doing it all over again. If Dean is off though, he makes sure to pick him up in the Impala at the end of his shift and does his best to distract Cas from that routine with burgers and beers, offers of movie nights and snuggling sessions in bed. Those things always _sound _good at the time, are often even enough to tempt him away temporarily, but even when he _tries, _tries his _very _best to stay still, Castiel never can. His body is wired differently now, craving something else, something with a far stronger hold than Dean’s arms.

“C’mon, sweetheart,” Dean begs from his spot on the couch. He’s wrapped in a soft, fluffy comforter and he’s carted a truckload of pillows down from upstairs, probably for this specific purpose. There’s an untouched box of pizza and a sweating six-pack of beer spread out on the coffee table before him, the television cued up to the start menu for _ Tombstone, _Dean’s favorite. It’s already almost eleven and Castiel’s let Dean waste his time for over an hour now with distracting kisses and wandering hands. But ultimately, his mind is elsewhere and he’s starting to get anxious about missing his regular customers. He’d shot up a little that morning before heading to work at Lowe’s so he’s not overly twitchy, but as alluring as Dean’s mouth and hands might be, they’re just not enough. He has other places to be.

“I’m sorry, Dean,” he apologizes, and he really does mean it. He wishes, as he often does these days, that things were different, that he could sit down beside Dean and just _ stay. _ That in another hour’s time his foot wouldn’t be vibrating, his muscles tensing, his mind unable to focus on anything besides when he can escape away and get his next fix. He leans down and kisses Dean goodnight while he’s still _ himself_, slow and careful, pulling away regretfully and letting his fingers linger, twisted in Dean’s hand. Green eyes blink up at him sadly, his lips parting around the same words, the same _ pleas _ for Castiel to _ not do this, _ for him to _ just stay with me, baby _ that he’s turned into an almost nightly prayer now_. _But this time, nothing comes out, Dean’s mouth snapping shut as he turns away, resigned to the unwanted answer he already knows he’s going to get. A small part of Castiel feels badly that he’s grateful he doesn’t have to go through the motions of an argument, but his mind has already left the building and he’s got no patience or time left for it. 

The screen door to Dean’s house bangs loudly behind him as he steps out into the warm, humid July night air. He closes his eyes and inhales, something about the scents that hit his nostrils reminding him vividly of that night on the boardwalk in Atlantic City with Dean. The memories of chilly salt water on his skin, Dean’s smile, and the sand beneath his back as Dean pressed him down and kissed the laughter right from his mouth, all of it hits him like a sucker punch to the gut. He gasps and leans against one of the support poles on Dean’s porch, a hand pressed to his abdomen as he tries to regain his equilibrium, whatever’s left of it, anyway. 

It’s a jarring shock for Castiel to take stock of how many things have changed since that night, how much his priorities have somehow shifted in a direction that a few months ago, he couldn’t even fathom. 

_ Just a little longer, _ Castiel tells himself. _ Just a few thousand more and then I’ll be done, for good this time. _He decides that he’ll tell that to Dean the next time he sees him. That’ll make him happy. He steps off the porch and walks the few yards home, the needle calling his name drowning out the obvious fact that Dean was already right there, missing him, waiting for him.

***

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Drug use and vague mentions of Castiel's sex work.


	9. Through the Horizon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Track: [Heart and I by Robbie Williams](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SE1u_6gAbhg)
> 
> Warnings for tagged items in end notes
> 
> See endnotes regarding spoiler warnings (for tagged content) in this chapter. Please be aware that this chapter contains a _lot_ of the more serious tagged items!

_And I don't feel myself again,_  
_I thought I'd be fixed by now._  
_Walking through the horizon, I found myself back here somehow..._  
_Give me something to die for,_  
_or design a quiet mind._  
_Something to like mankind for,_  
_‘Cause we don't lie, my heart and I_

Thanks to the heroin suppressing his appetite, Castiel’s rarely hungry anymore. He’s losing weight from forgetting to eat, so Dean starts showing up at his house in the mornings, cooking up all his favorites from eggs to pancakes in a last ditch attempt to shove some food down his throat. At six-thirty in the morning, with Castiel’s system coming down from injectable narcotics and his eyes desperate for sleep, that goes over just about as well as can be imagined. If he’s not passing out directly in his food, he’s screaming at Dean to leave him the fuck alone and let him go to bed. 

One of those mornings, Castiel comes home braced to fight Dean and his inevitable armfuls of carbs and protein off with a stick if necessary and instead finds so much more than he bargained for. On this particular day, there are no savory smells wafting from the kitchen but there are voices, and angry ones at that. 

“I swear to God, Gabe, if I find out you’re lying to me I will _ fucking end you,” _ Dean growls, his words followed by a loud _ thump _and the rattle of a door shaking on its hinges. Castiel steps out from the front entryway and into the living room where he can see through to the kitchen to where Dean’s voice is coming from. He notes with not a small amount of confusion that Dean has Gabriel lifted up on his toes, pinned solidly against the half-bathroom door, his hands fisted in the front of his shirt and their faces only inches apart. 

“Not like I have a reason to lie to ya, Dean-o,” Gabriel replies weakly, lifting his hands before dropping them back to his sides. He sniffs, and as Castiel draws closer he sees that there’s blood dripping from Gabe’s nose, and a shiner already developing around his left eye. Dean’s eyes narrow, but he must catch sight of Castiel because he does a double-take before loosening his hold on Gabe and allowing the smaller man’s feet to drop back down to the floor. 

“What’s going on?” Castiel asks skeptically.

“Nothing,” Dean replies, far too quickly. “Me and Gabe were just having a little heart to heart about _ enabling, _ weren’t we?” Gabriel rolls his eyes and gestures between Castiel and Dean like, _ see what I have to put up with? Do something about your man. _Castiel just folds his arms and raises an eyebrow.

“Ask him yourself,” Gabriel says defiantly as he grabs a dishrag off of the counter and dabs daintily at his nose.

“Gabriel isn’t selling to me,” Castiel tells Dean. “You’re barking up the wrong tree.” 

“Shit, if I’d known things were gonna go this way, I’d have hijacked his stash myself, back when I knew where it was,” Gabriel admits, and Castiel throws him a death glare. 

“Who asked you to get involved?” 

“Your fucking boyfriend, apparently, when he decided to break my nose over it!” 

Castiel steps forward and Gabe shrinks back, Dean cutting in between them, ever the eternally righteous prick. “Fuck _ off, _ Dean!” Castiel snarls. “You have no right attempting to interfere in my life like this. If I want to shoot heroin, I will. If I want to fight with Gabriel, I will. Get out of my kitchen, and out of my life before I _ throw you _out.”

But Dean just snorts and keeps a hand on Cas' waist. “Maybe a month ago that might have scared me, but you’re skin and bones Cas, and you’re still fucking _ high _right now. You couldn’t go two rounds with a toddler.” 

He’s right of course, and the haze clouding both Castiel’s vision and his judgment tells him to back off, to cut and run while he’s still got a shred of dignity left. 

“Fuck you,” he spits, stumbling even as he steps backward to head for the stairs. “Stay away from me.” 

Dean throws his hands up in resignation as Castiel disappears up the stairs. He makes it all the way to the top of the first flight and halfway to the attic before he’s overcome, dropping down onto the steps in pure exhaustion. He just means to rest his eyes and limbs for a moment but ends up passing out cold, draped across several steps and tucked in tight against the wall. 

When he wakes again hours later, he’s in his own bed and he doesn’t need two guesses to figure out how he got there. His phone is charging on the nightstand and there’s a glass of water with two Advil sitting next to it, as if those will do anything for what ails him. Dean’s nowhere to be seen but his presence fills the room all the same, a message waiting on Castiel’s phone that simply says, “_ I love you” _. Exactly what does he need to do to drive this man away, to prove that he’s unworthy and unfixable once and for all? He groans and buries his face into his pillow, embarrassed and humbled, overcome by guilt and shame at how he’s treated the people who love him. 

Castiel shoves his hands into the mattress and pushes himself upright, leaning back against the wall that’s as close to a headboard as he’s ever going to own. He flexes his fingers against his thighs and takes a long, slow deep breath. He doesn’t have work at Lowe’s today but it’s been over a week since he didn’t shoot up in the morning, regardless of his schedule. He thinks about skipping this morning, wonders if he can, and realizes that his fingers and toes are already itching for it. It won’t be long before his muscles start twitching all over, before the cramps and cold sweats and inability to focus on _ anything _ but _ getting that next dose _ kick in. For the first time since he boarded this merry-go-round of self-hate fueled madness, he feels scared. He’s becoming tolerant, he’s needing to up his dose _ and _his frequency already, and he’s still with it enough to know that this road doesn’t lead anywhere good.

With some difficulty, Castiel forces himself out of bed and pointedly refuses to even _ look _ in the direction of his new hiding spot, wondering if _ out of sight, out of mind _ will make any of this any better. _ Mind over matter, _he tells himself, dragging his tired ass down the stairs to shower and pull on a clean t-shirt and comfortable jeans.

By the time he’s done, he can’t deny it anymore. If he stays here in the house, he’ll shoot up, no two ways about it. He thinks about his cruel words downstairs earlier, remembers Gabriel with blood on his face and Dean with bruises on his knuckles and hurt in his eyes. _He _is the problem here, the common denominator in all of these equations. He’s hurting everyone around him, driving them all apart and away when all he _really _wants is his goddamn life back. His eyes burn and he rubs at them with the heels of his hands.

Castiel’s out the door without even bothering with shoes before he can second guess himself. _ This is it, he’s fucking done. No more. _The grass is wet with rain he never heard come down in his medicated slumber, cool against his feet as he strides across, purposeful for something besides drugs for the first time in what feels like ages. He steps inside the Winchesters’ house without knocking and is relieved to find Dean in the kitchen, hunched wearily over the table and clutching a cup of coffee long gone cold. Despite already knowing how affected Dean is by all of this, Castiel’s still surprised to see him looking so exhausted and miserable. Dark circles paint the bags below his reddened eyes and as he lifts them to meet his own, Castiel sees for the first time just how beaten down and resigned he’s become. 

_I did that, _he thinks, horrified. It’s obvious that Dean expects him to be high, and the tiny glimmer of hope that streaks through his expression when he sees that he’s not just about does Castiel in. 

He lunges forward right as Dean shoves his chair back from the table, both of them tripping over themselves to crash into each other’s arms and collapse down onto the hard tile floor. The tears well up inside him and overflow, Castiel breaking down and outright sobbing in Dean’s arms for the very first time. 

“I’m so sorry,” he cries, clutching Dean’s shoulders as Dean shushes him and rubs his back. “Please, Dean,” he sobs. “Please, you have to help me. I can’t stop. I can’t stop.” His tears cloud his vision and choke his words as they stutter out, making him cough and gasp for breath. Dean gathers him up, pulls him closer, drops down onto his ass on the floor and tugs him into his lap. Two months ago Castiel wouldn’t have fit, but he’s lost so much muscle since then that Dean’s arms wrap around him easily. 

“I’ll stay with you,” he murmurs, cupping the side of his head. “I’ll call out of work tonight, fuck, I’ll call out for as long as it takes. I won’t leave you alone. I’ve got you, Cas, and you’ve got me too.” 

It’s not long before he realizes that Dean’s crying too, soaking the side of his head with quiet tears of relief and worry. Dean soothes him, rocks him back and forth until they’ve both calmed enough to pull back and stare at each other, eyes filled with sadness and longing and at least where Dean’s concerned, _ hope. _

He helps Castiel to his feet and as soon as he’s steady, whisks him away up the stairs and into his room. He leaves him standing by the bed to go turn up the AC solely so that he can come back and bundle him up in blankets, nestle him down amongst the soft pillows. Dean lies down next to him and holds him close, presses their foreheads together, and exhausted from crying they fall asleep wrapped up like that. As Castiel’s dozing off, warm and safe and loved, for one _ small _ moment in time, he thinks everything _ might _actually be okay. 

But by early evening, Castiel’s in withdrawal. He wakes up covered in cold, clammy sweat, an involuntary whine slipping from his throat at the discomfort he feels, his arms and legs itching and angry as if spiders are crawling beneath his skin. Around seven o’clock his stomach churns violently and rebels, Castiel tangled in blankets and falling as he scrambles to get out of bed, barely making it to the toilet before he’s wracked with vomiting so severe he can’t help but wish for death.

“Dean,” he groans, his face still angled down into the toilet bowl.

“Okay, baby, I’m here,” Dean reassures him, wetting a washcloth with cool water before crouching beside the toilet and dabbing at his forehead, his mouth, and the back of his neck where the skin burns strangely hot despite all the shivering. Dean rubs patient circles into his back and coaxes him to take tiny sips of water, all of which come back up in painful, wrenching heaves. 

“I can’t,” he moans, “This is worse than dying, I’m sure of it. I’d rather be back in that alley, bleeding out.” He turns his face down onto the porcelain seat and lets out a sob. He knows he’s not making sense, that he doesn’t really want to die, but logic has no place in the room at the moment. “You have to… Dean, I need a hit, this is too much, it’s too soon. I’m not strong enough—” He’s cut off from his begging by another round of nausea that rolls his stomach and forces him up onto his knees with its strength. His legs shake beneath him, weak and crying out for relief, and his groans echo his misery back at him. “You have to kill me, Dean,” he begs nonsensically, not caring what he sounds like, just wishing for anything to stop the pain and sickness.

Dean, of course, refuses, because he’s sane and Castiel is not, though he does offer to take him to the ER for medication that will at least help alleviate some of the symptoms. But Castiel knows what that route entails, and that way lies involuntary commitment and cold, uncaring rehabs that mean shaking and wishing for death on cold floors with no kind company or relief in sight. 

“Fuck this,” he moans, pushing to his feet, despite his own concern that his legs might not actually hold him up. He pushes sticky hair back off of his forehead and shakes his head forcefully, even as he stumbles into the bathroom wall. “I can’t… I can’t do this, Dean, I’m sorry. I thought I could, but...” 

“No, Cas, you can, you just have to… _ No!” _ Dean yells in his face as Castiel attempts to push past him, too weak to really resist but too sick to be held prisoner in this hell of his own making. “You're not going anywhere,” Dean insists, blocking Castiel’s weak punches, not fighting back, just tiring him out until he can move in to pin his arms against his sides. “You're staying _ here_. And you and me? We’re gonna ride this out together.” 

Dean grabs his biceps and Castiel drives forward into his chest, using his weight as leverage to shove his way through the bathroom door and back out into Dean’s room. The door is _ right there _ and Castiel eyes it, but Dean holds firm, yelling “ _ NO,” _repeatedly and wrestling him to the ground. 

“I love you,” he pleads, “Cas, stay with me, stay, just stay.” He straddles Castiel’s hips and pins his arms to the floor this time, his soft green eyes so full of pain and misplaced love that Castiel certainly doesn’t fucking deserve. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he still wants _ nothing _ more than to accept it all, to let Dean pet him and soothe him and try his best to make it all better, even if that’s all just a fantasy. Even if he can’t actually _ do _anything at all. 

But Castiel _ hurts _ and he’s sick_. _All over his body and in his mind, it’s all just too much. He knows what he needs and Dean won’t let him have it. 

And that makes Dean the enemy. 

So as soon as the opportunity arises, sometime between Castiel pretending to go limp on the floor and Dean moving to stand and help him up, he kicks out as hard as he can and lands a sharp hit with the ball of his foot to Dean’s groin. With an _ “Oof,” _and a pained cry, Dean falls onto his side curled up in a ball, and Castiel flies out of the room faster than he’s ever moved in his life. 

At least, it feels that way. 

He bolts barefoot and naked except for his underwear across the yard and back inside his own house, racing up the stairs as fast as his weak and cramping body will allow. He slides underneath his bed, pries up another loose floorboard to a better hiding space than his fucking underwear drawer or the stupid closet, and yanks out his supplies. He opens one of the baggies long enough to get some powder on his finger and snort it, the rush alleviating the edge of the worst of his symptoms almost immediately. He steps into new jeans, a t-shirt, and boots, pockets the supplies and races down the front steps to the living room. He doesn’t see Dean but by now he could be running up the back way. He grabs his bicycle and drags it down the front steps before mounting it and riding away on shaky legs. He sees Dean dart out the front door after him when he’s already halfway down the block, but he doesn’t look back more than once.

What he sees in that one brief glance breaks his heart enough for a lifetime. Dean, still undressed to his boxers, bloody knees from God knows what, sprinting after him down the sidewalk, tears running openly down his face. 

“_CAS!” _He screams, but Castiel pretends not to hear. 

***

Castiel ends up getting high in a park bathroom like some kind of homeless vagrant, because apparently that’s his life now. A little kid with a blue popsicle smile is washing his hands at the dirty sink as Castiel lets the heavy metal door drop shut behind him, forcing a tight smile as he walks past to close himself inside the handicapped stall and lock the door. The boy takes his time leaving and Castiel squeezes his eyes shut against the residual nausea and discomfort in his body, pulling his legs up onto the seat and wrapping his arms around them. With a hint of the drug inside him phasing out the very worst of the withdrawal symptoms, Castiel already regrets leaving. He could have handled that better, could have let Dean take him to the hospital, could have hit up Gabriel or Kali for medications that would have taken the edge off, helped get him through the worst of the symptoms. He misses Dean already and the look on his face as he rode away is hauntingly burned into the back of his eyelids.

_ Fuck, _ he thinks. _ I’ve really gone and messed everything up now. _

Because the problem still remains that Castiel doesn’t _ want _ to stop, and clearly that’s something he’s failed to acknowledge, even to himself. He crossed some sort of line in the sand back when he wasn’t paying attention, and now he’s a full-blown junkie that doesn’t even _ want _help anymore, wouldn’t take it even if it were served up on a silver platter.

Because what would he do after that? Supposing he _ does _ get clean, and that his family and Dean don’t hate his guts when they all tumble out the other side of that inevitable hellhole. How will he make a living? What will he do to fill his time? Sometime between the day he decided to go all-in with self-medicating so that he could whore himself out and now, Castiel didn’t just become dependent—he came to _ like _it. The feeling of floating, the rush when the drug hits his bloodstream, the pleasant numbness that carries away all of his worries and fears like a river. 

And honestly, he’s not sure that he can survive day to day even just existing anymore without that, no matter how much he might want to, even if it means trading in his life to get it.

Castiel breathes a sigh of relief when the echo of the door slamming shut bounces off the bathroom walls. He pulls his supplies out of his pocket and realizes with despair that he’s forgotten water. Reluctantly, he leaves the safety of his little alcove and moves to the sink, drawing water up as it flows out of the rusty tap and regretting the choice before he’s even made it. 

But not enough to walk away. He melts the drug into the already brown-tinted water and draws it up from the spoon, bracing himself for the headrush that always comes within seconds of that first push. And when it comes, when the warmth floods his system and erases all traces of hesitation and fear, he barely recalls what he was worried about to begin with. His vision and thoughts go fuzzy and he barely remembers to recap his needle before pocketing it again. 

Outside the bathroom, the sun’s gone down and the park is emptying out for the night, but Castiel feels alive for the first time all day. He gets on his bike and promptly runs it into a curb, spilling over onto the sidewalk and scraping his head. He lays there for a while, just staring at the sky as it bends and swirls above him, but eventually, someone comes by, kicks at his hip, and tells him to get a move on. After he sits up, he touches his forehead with his fingers and they come away bloody, but he doesn’t _ feel _hurt. He laughs at the incongruous red on his hands, decides that if he can’t feel it then it must not be real, and sets off towards the club. This time, he walks his bicycle along, too unsteady to even attempt balancing on the seat.

It’s far too early for the kind of people he’s looking for to be at _ Saints ‘n’ Sinners_, but the back door is open and Castiel lets himself inside, hauling his bicycle in with him. He ignores the few people cleaning and stocking the bar, walking directly to Balthazar’s office and pleased to find that it, too, is unlocked. Balthazar’s not there, which isn’t unexpected but comes as more of a relief today than it otherwise might have, and if he weren’t high off his ass, Castiel would probably find that thought concerning too. The cold reality is, he’s not here to _ work— _ truthfully_, _ he’d prefer to avoid ever letting other men use his body that way again if it were possible—no, he’s _ hiding. _

And in lieu of hiding, considering this is the first place Dean will probably look if he has half a mind to do so, Castiel locks the door behind him before slumping down over Balthazar’s desk. He drops his head onto his arms and lets the comforting haze of heroin drag him under. 

***

The next thing Castiel’s conscious of is being fucked. His brain is so addled and fuzzy that he genuinely has no idea if he was unconscious when it started or if he was just _ that _ out of it he didn’t register Balthazar walking in (or standing up, or pulling his pants down). Admittedly, he’s not _ entirely _ awake just yet, but he’s still leaning towards the latter because he doesn’t actually feel that high. He glances over his shoulder to confirm, and thankfully, it _ is _Bal behind him, and even better, he seems to be close to finishing himself off. Castiel puts his head back down and waits for it to be over, grimacing as he’s jostled roughly against the desk. 

“So good, Cassie,” Balthazar moans as his thrusts increase in force and speed, and Castiel rolls his eyes, counting backward from one hundred to pass the time. He only gets down to sixty-three before Bal’s tensing up and clutching an arm around his abdomen, which makes Castiel want to jam his elbow into the side of his face. He stiffens when Balthazar relaxes down over his back, panting into his neck as he tries to catch his breath. 

“Ugh,” he groans, and when that doesn’t get the other man to move, “that hurts,” he adds pointedly. 

“Don’t be difficult, Cassie,” Balthazar chides, pulling out and snapping the condom off as he does. “You know I dislike it when you’re sullen and obnoxious. Smoke?” Castiel pushes upright before fixing his clothing and lets Balthazar slip a few bills into his pocket before shaking his head in the negative.

“No, thank you,” he replies. “I need to…” He doesn’t finish explaining, just pulls out his gear and snatches a water bottle from the mini-fridge under Balthazar’s desk. _ At least I’ll have clean water this time_, he thinks ruefully. Despite the tiny residual buzz in the back of his head, he’s _ much _more sober than he’d like to be at this time of night, and for Balthazar in general, reasoning that he must have passed out hard after everything he’d gone through earlier. For a brief moment, his mind flashes to Dean, and Castiel feels a terrible pang of sadness as he remembers what Dean had looked like as he chased him frantically down the street. 

He shoves that picture from his mind, though, easier than he can ignore Balthazar’s heavy scrutiny as he flicks his lighter underneath the bent spoon and draws up the resulting sludge. “I wasn’t aware this was a spectator sport,” he says with a glare, and to his credit, Balthazar puts up both hands and backs off. He has the common sense at least to open the door carefully and look both ways before exiting the room.

“I’ll be out at the bar,” he says unnecessarily as if Castiel gives a single fuck what he does. “Be careful tonight, Cassie. Any idiot can see that you’re running away from something. I have no room to talk but I do know that the answer isn’t inside that syringe.” 

Castiel snorts and doesn’t reply. Balthazar stands there for another moment, opens his mouth like he’s going to say something else but in the end decides better of it. The door closes behind him with a soft _ snick, _and Castiel’s alone again. 

The latex of his makeshift tourniquet is tight against his skin, pinching him where it’s tied off. Castiel contemplates the syringe for a long moment before adding a pinch more powder and water to the spoon, melting them together and drawing that mixture up too. He’s_ done _ with everyone else thinking they know what’s best for him, done with all these emotions and guilt and feeling fucking anything at all. He’d tried to quit, he failed, and the last thing he wants is to be reminded that he’s so fucked up he can’t even _ quit _properly. 

_ Fuck all that, _he thinks angrily. 

The dose he’s got inside the syringe is bigger than anything he’s ever taken before, but he knows he can handle it. He might end up sleeping under Balthazar’s desk or hell, an alley somewhere between here and home, but it’ll be worth it to be truly numb for a while. 

Castiel puts the needle to the reddened skin of his inner elbow, ignores the bruising around where he’d shot up earlier and shoves the point into his vein. With a tiny _ pop _and a rush of blood backflushing into the chamber, he’s ready. He takes a deep breath and closes his eyes, preparing for the sweet heat to coarse through his system and take him far, far away from all of this. 

As the drug slides insidious tentacles through his veins, Castiel slides off of his chair and down onto the floor. It’s bliss; perfect, chemical bliss, and then it’s nothing at all, just the way he wanted. 

His eyes never did open again. 

_I've been feeling so lonely,_  
_feeling so low,_  
_so low I almost let go._

***

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter warnings for: Explict drug use, withdrawal, semi-graphic attempts at detox, a minor physical fight between Cas and Dean (Cas kicks Dean while he's withdrawing so that he can get away), dub-con between Balthazar/Cas due to Cas' intoxicated state, overdose.


	10. Dean

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Track:  
[Halls by Andrew McMahon and the Wilderness](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ESAQf6TLWow) "Halls" is a track for how Dean is feeling, but the lyrics don't appear in the text. 
> 
> Surprise Dean POV! Just for a chapter for reasons that are probably obvious from the cliffhanger. :)
> 
> Please mind the warnings if you are sensitive, this chapter has some graphic content. Chapter specific spoiler warnings are at the bottom of the page.

_You echo in the halls_  
_I feel your shadow on this empty stage_  
_I hear your music through the walls_  
_I see your picture on the blank page, oh,_  
_you echo in the halls_

Watching Castiel run from him and then ride away on his bike is one of the hardest things Dean has ever been forced to do. In the aftermath, he sits on his front step and stares blankly down the street, willing Cas to come back, _ fuck, praying _ to him, hopeless and furious and sad all at once, the images of their last moments together haunting his mind’s eye. Closing his eyes and seeing Castiel’s pained, desperate face as he wrenched free of Dean’s grasp, as he turned to look back one last time, it stole Dean’s breath from his chest, felt like a vice closing around his heart. Dean _ failed _ him, he hadn’t been able to hold on, hadn’t _ tried _hard enough and because of that, Cas had slipped through his grasp. 

For all he knows, Cas is dead by now. 

That thought alone spurs him into action, unwilling to sit around feeling bad for himself while there’s still a chance he can find Cas, stop him, force him to get help, someone or something better than Dean. His groin still throbs like a sonofabitch and his knees and palms burn where he’d wiped out on the short stretch of pavement in Cas’ backyard, but Dean ignores them, save for stopping to throw a bandage on each knee before pulling on pants. He chooses his EMS pants and a “FIRE” t-shirt, already knowing that if he _ doesn’t _end up finding Cas, his next stop is going to be the station. Sure, he’d called in sick, but he doubts whoever got mandated to stay in his place will mind being let off early. The fact is, if Castiel ends up overdosing somewhere out there, the city ambulance will be the first to find out. In the meantime, Dean turns his pager on so that he can monitor the dispatch frequency and any calls that come in.

Before he takes off to search, he decides to check in with Gabriel. Dean retraces his steps from where he’d run after Cas in through the back door and up the two flights of stairs to the attic, this time turning right to knock on Gabe’s door instead of left into Cas’ open one. He resists looking in, knowing all he’ll see is the bed shoved aside, the floorboards pulled up, and the remainder of the heroin lying out in the open. He has to knock several times and yell _ loudly _before Gabe finally cracks open the door with a yawn and a ridiculous case of bedhead.

“Dude,” Dean says in disbelief. “It’s like eight at night, why the fuck are you sleeping?”

Gabriel blinks up at him blearily and wipes drool off of his cheek with the back of one hand. “Time means nothing to me anymore, Dean-o. House arrest is hell.” 

Involuntarily, Dean’s lips press together in a tight line. Gabriel has no idea about hell, not yet. “If you think so, then I’ve got some bad news for you, buddy.” 

He spills it all, every graphic detail, including the kick to the nuts. Gabe listens intently but his overall reaction to Castiel’s brief attempt at sobriety and resulting freak out ends up being a whole lot _ less _ than Dean expected. As he recounts the story to him, there’s a lot of eye rubbing and groaning, obvious concern but no actual _ panic_. Dean, on the other hand, is very much panicking, more so every minute that ticks by of him standing there doing nothing.

“Gotta say, man, you’re a lot more calm and collected about this than I would have thought.” 

Scratching his head, Gabriel shrugs, though it isn’t one of disinterest, just exhaustion. “What do you want me to say, Dean? It’s my fault Cassie’s in this situation. Drugs have always been a fact of life in this neighborhood, you know that. But that doesn’t mean I couldn’t have done a better job protecting him from it. I’m his big brother and I was the first one to sell him the stuff. No one’s let Cas down more than me.” 

Silence hangs heavy between them as Dean searches for something to say and comes up empty. Fortunately, Gabe lets him off the hook.

“Go,” he says, motioning towards the attic stairs. “Go find him, or whatever it is you were gonna do before you came up here. I’ll take care of all that.” He points a finger in the direction of Cas’ room, and the paraphernalia strewn about the floor. “_ When _you bring him back, we’re gonna do this again, and do it right. I’ll get some benzos, some other stuff to help make the comedown a little easier. You think you can pinch some fluids, maybe some Zofran for the nausea from work?” 

Dean nods. “Definitely.” He heads for the stairs. “Call Sam,” he suggests softly, partially turning with one foot already down on the first step. “He had some kind of lawyer dinner thing tonight, but it should be wrapping up. Tell him what’s going on, see if he can’t make arrangements for you to be able to go to the hospital, you know, if…” He trails off, not wanting to finish that sentence. Gabriel nods and Dean does too, because there’s nothing left to say. He continues retracing his own steps from earlier, back down the stairs and out the front door, this time getting in behind the wheel of the Impala.

His first stop is the obvious one; _ Saints ‘n’ Sinners. _ Despite the fact that it isn’t open for the evening just yet, he’s able to walk right in the front door and look around as if it were. Unfortunately, the place is quiet and empty save for a couple of employees who don’t have anything useful to tell him. Just in case, he checks out back for Castiel’s bicycle and looks in every bathroom stall, to no avail. He even peeks his head inside a storeroom and jiggles the knob on a back office labeled “Private,” since Cas has talked before about using that room when he’s with Balthazar. Before leaving, he stops at the bar and asks for Balthazar’s number, but the dude stocking liquor on the shelves just looks at him sideways and says, _ “Lo siento, no hablo inglés.” _

“Of course you don’t,” Dean sighs in reply, rapping his knuckles on the long wooden bar and glancing around the space longingly one last time. He _ could _ stay here, just sit and wait and hope against hope that Castiel decides to show up. But his instincts tell him not to, that Castiel’s intent on avoiding him, that there’s no way he’s going to come to the _ one _place he knows for sure Dean will look. 

_ He has to know Dean’s looking for him, right? He can’t be so far gone that the thought wouldn’t even occur to him, not yet. _ That stream of thought leaves Dean feeling particularly unsettled, but he moves on because he can’t think of anything else to do. The setting sun still feels warm on his face as he steps out from the dim light of the club, and yet he’s nothing but cold and empty inside. Part of him fears that it’s already over, that he and Cas had beaten the odds of time and distance and age only to be ripped apart by a fucking _ drug, _a chemical, and Castiel’s own good intentions. 

He sits and takes a few steadying breaths before turning the key and bringing the Impala’s engine to life, the steady vibrations below him a familiar, grounding comfort. Over the next hour, he checks all the familiar haunts, places he’s picked up overdose patients while on call, flop houses and homeless encampments known for attracting dealers and users alike. But no matter where he looks and who he bribes, he can’t get a bead on Castiel. Either the people he’s engaging with are covering for him, or Dean is looking in the wrong places. Regardless, with nothing to go on and his own ideas for where to look exhausted, he’s left with little choice other than to pack it in and head to the station.

When he pulls in beside the old brick EMS building, the bay doors are open and all three ambulances are parked in their spots. That’s usually a good sign for this time of night, signaling that it won’t be overly busy, but tonight it fills Dean with a sense of dread. _ What if Cas is out there somewhere, drowning in a puddle of his own puke? What if he took too much? _ Dean himself has seen all too many times what happens when junkies attempt a home detox and get overwhelmed, quitting right as the initial withdrawal really starts to hit home. It’s incredibly common for them to then _ over _ self-medicate in an attempt to more quickly destroy the intolerable symptoms, and more often than not those attempts end with Dean administering an anti-opiate and artificial ventilations until it kicks in. And those are the _ good _outcomes.

Dean sits in his parked car and drops his head onto the steering wheel, internally berating himself for sending Castiel down that road. He hadn’t been prepared at _ all _ for the strength of his withdrawal, hadn’t had any medications or fluids or really anything useful on hand to make the process more painless. He _ should _ have, he should have known better, should have made arrangements and pulled strings and not foolishly believed that love would conquer all. Love doesn’t do _ shit _ for a person whose stomach is trying to exit their body as forcefully as possible from both ends, doesn’t stop twitching muscles from feeling as if they’re being tap danced on by insects before being peeled slowly away from the inside, and Dean is a fucking idiot for thinking it would. He _ knows _ better, it’s his fucking _ job. _ He’d wanted so desperately to save Cas that he ended up making things a thousand times worse, and now Cas is _ gone. _

Perhaps he hadn’t wanted to see how addicted Cas really was, hadn’t wanted to believe it was possible that he’d really gone over the edge. Dean’s well-versed enough in addiction to know innately what being _ that _ lost _ could _ mean, and therefore acknowledging the depth of Cas’ problem meant having to face up to those hard truths. Castiel might be too far gone, he might never come back, and the worst part is, those aren’t things Dean would have _ any _control over. He could and probably will love Castiel until the end of time, but if Cas choses drugs, if he’s too far down that rabbit hole to even grab hold of the ropes being thrown his way, the things Dean feels won’t mean a goddamn thing. Best case scenario, he’ll be loving a shell, an empty vessel, the physical reminder of something that once was Castiel but has long since been discarded and left behind.

Worst case scenario, he’ll be loving Castiel alone. 

Tears well up insistently at the corners of Dean’s eyes because he _ does _ love him, loves him so fucking much it hurts on a regular day, never mind facing down all of this. It’s not that he’s given up, no fucking way. It’s just impossible when looking back on all of both his and Cas’ mistakes and noting where things went wrong _ not _ to consider every possible outcome. Not to mention that Cas _ is _ out there _ alone _somewhere now, and Dean is scared. 

He gathers himself enough to face his crew and exits the car. It’s only then that he realizes he’s forgotten his bag and all the essentials he usually brings to work with him, especially if he’s assigned to the ambulance, but hell, the shift is already the better part of halfway over, he’ll just borrow someone else’s phone charger if he needs it, just in case Castiel calls. Nothing else really matters at the moment. 

Walking into the open truck bay, he spies Benny, the closest new friend he’s made so far and a department lieutenant, kicked back in an office chair smoking a cigarette. Dean offers him a weak smile and drops into the chair next to him. Benny shoots him a look and immediately holds out a pack of cigarettes. Dean’s never been a smoker, but the events of the day have frayed his nerves far past their usual breaking point and he’ll gladly take any reprieve. He lights up gratefully, relishing the calming rush of nicotine as it flows through his veins, exhaling and wishing it was weed, wishing he was sharing it with Cas. 

“Who got stuck covering for me?” Dean keeps his eyes focused on the floor, flicking the cigarette between his fingers as he addresses Benny.

“That would be me, brother,” Benny replies, his soft Southern drawl perfectly even. Dean looks up with a face full of guilt and sadness, thankful to find that Benny doesn’t look angry, only curious. 

“I’m fuckin’ sorry, man,” Dean tells him with a shake of his head, and he means it. He knows Benny works a second job most nights teaching at the Culinary Institute downtown, and Dean hopes that his last minute call off didn’t fuck him over. “I wasn’t lying about the family emergency, it just sort of… got away from me.” He huffs a bitter laugh at his own shitty joke and takes another drag from the cigarette. 

Benny nods slowly. “Anythin’ you feeling like you might wanna get off your chest, chief? I ain’t here to judge, but I also can’t help if you don’t let me in.” 

Dean pauses for a moment, dips his head between his shoulders before taking a third long drag from his cigarette. When he’s settled, Benny’s still just quietly waiting, watching, leaving it all in Dean’s court. If he spills his guts, it could go one of two ways; either Benny’s going to be disgusted, possibly even willing to fire Dean over the whole thing and definitely eliminating his chances at pinching any medication or fluid to bring home to Cas, or he’ll actually help. Dean runs the odds through his head quickly, the fact that Cas is still _ out there, _right now, and at risk landing squarely in the middle of his bottom line. 

“Yeah,” he says finally, surprising even himself at how rough the words come out. “Alright.” 

Dean finishes and stubs out his cigarette as he gives Benny the shortened, edited version of the full story, some of the details naturally not being his to share. He already feels as if he’s breaching Cas’ trust, his privacy, but he’s smart enough, _ seen this very thing enough times, _to know that he can’t keep trying to handle it all on his own. Benny just sits thoughtfully, smoking and listening, a neutral expression on his face that makes bile rise in Dean’s throat for fear that he’s about to lose everything. He swallows it down and continues, finishing up his story with a brief account of Cas’ failed attempt at detoxing earlier today. And then he waits, curling into himself and lacing his fingers together across the back of his neck.

Finally, Benny speaks. “So what are we sitting around here for, then? Let’s go find your boy an’ bring his ass home.” 

***

Benny lets Dean clock back in and resume his shift but stays on duty under the guise of acting as a supervisor. He puts one of the ambulances on busy status with City Dispatch, assigning it to a search for an endangered missing person, and that’s when Dean realizes it’s what he should have done in the first place. Thank fuck for Benny, because Dean’s emotions are really frying his ability to think straight about Cas at all right now. As they’re moving to climb into the truck, Dean’s shift partner Victor graciously offering to drive, Benny grabs Dean’s arm and pulls him into a tight hug. 

Surprised and a little overwhelmed at the unexpected affection, Dean tenses up briefly before letting himself relax and hug Benny back, his several-day-old stubble scraping the side of Dean’s face as he steps back. Benny pulls away and holds him at arm’s length by his biceps. “Deep breath, brother,” he says, holding eye contact and miming with his hand for Dean to inhale and exhale slowly. His calm reassurance goes a long way for Dean, pulling him back from the brink and grounding him in the knowledge that he’s not alone, that other people care about Cas and about _ him _ too. He nods and claps Benny on the shoulder before climbing into the front passenger seat. Benny hops in the back and sticks his head through the space behind the center console. “Alright, then,” he says. “Dean, where’re we headed, cher?” 

They drive the ambulance all over town, re-checking all the spots Dean has already been and then some with no better luck. Both Victor and Benny have a few ideas, know of a few places that are or have been hot spots for dealers to sell and users to crash. Dean’s stomach almost turns itself inside out when he hears the address of one of them, an abandoned, condemned shithole just down the street from his and Cas’ places on the east side. He’d recognize that address anywhere. Despite living less than ten lots away, Dean hasn’t given his old place much thought until now. It’s not easy to see it literally falling apart at the seams, the windows boarded up behind iron bars, the roof caving in on one side. Whatever it might look like these days, that place was _ home. _Once upon a time, it meant shelter and sanctuary, and it’s the place he’ll always associate with him and Cas falling in love. 

“I can’t go in there,” he tells Benny, wondering if he looks as green as he feels as they make their way up to the front door. Benny looks at him sideways and he _ must _because he just squeezes his shoulder and nods.

“Just hang out by the doorway,” Benny instructs. “If we find him, we’re dragging him out first anyway. Ain’t nobody wanna get down on their knees on that floor.” 

“Shit,” Dean murmurs, as Victor kicks the door open and steps inside without hesitation. From his vantage point, Dean cringes as he takes in the state of things. The house was a disaster when he’d lived there with Sam and his dad, but the _ normal _ kind of shitty, the kind most every house in this city has always been. Now, it looks like a death trap. The walls are blackened from smoke damage, trash and drug paraphernalia several inches thick covering the floor. Dean counts five, six people at least in various states of consciousness and undress, slumped against walls and puddled on ratty, threadbare furniture. And the smell—it _ reeks, _worse than anything Dean’s had his nose around in a while; body odor and smoke, raw sewage and garbage. It fucking hurts like hell to see such an important remnant from his former life torn up and destroyed like this, and it’s about all Dean can take.

He turns to lean over the railing of the concrete steps and vomits into the grass below, wishing once again that he had some weed to calm his nerves. There’s not much in his stomach so it’s mostly dry heaving, and by the time he’s straightening up Benny and Victor are filing back out the front door, pulling it closed behind them. The wood is swollen and warped so much that Victor has to give up on tugging it back into place, leaving it hanging and walking away with a disgusted look on his face. Benny hands Dean a piece of gum and shakes his head.

“Sorry, cher,” he says, his light blue eyes soft and sympathetic. Dean has another urge to throw up but manages to wrestle it down with the help of the gum. He walks over to the truck and leans against it, propping one foot flat against the side while looking between Victor and Benny helplessly. 

“I’m out of ideas,” he admits. “I don’t know what the fuck to do. You know, maybe he’s just hiding out, doesn’t want me to find him, but I can’t help thinking...” He trails off and runs a hand through his hair. It’s oily and gross from doing that very nervous action far too often. 

Victor chews his lip thoughtfully, hands on his hips as he looks around the neighborhood. “There’s still the club,” he offers. “It’s later now, maybe he’ll show.” Dean sighs and shakes his head as he checks his watch.

“It’s past midnight. That place is gonna be _ hopping. _And anyway, the dude who owns it has a real thing for Cas. I’d bet my right arm that if he’s there, he’ll hide him.” Benny and Victor exchange glances, and Dean perks up. “What?” 

“You mean Balthazar?” Victor’s tone changes, and for the first time since Dean’s seen him today, he smiles. “That’s the first good news I’ve heard all night, Dean-o. Balthazar’s not gonna be a problem for us.” 

***

Balthazar’s head makes a sickening _ smack _ sound as Victor shoves him up against the wall by the lapels of his stupid designer blazer. Dean’s not normally the jealous type, and when he tells Castiel he’s got no problem with what he does for a living, he’s not lying or harboring any unaired resentment. _ But. _ This dude is an asshole, it’s written all over his face. He’s full of himself, he’s smarmy, and he very clearly thinks he shares something special with Castiel that everyone else just isn’t in on. Even his accent grates like nails on a chalkboard in Dean’s ear, and he finds that he’s never wanted to beat the smirk off someone’s face more. His hands clench restlessly at his sides, the only thing holding him back from planting them both in Balthazar’s cheekbones being the knowledge that he _ needs _the douchebag to talk, to tell them where Cas is. He stands back and lets Victor do his thing.

“You remember our last run-in, Bal, old pal?” Despite his aggressive opening, Victor is cool as a cucumber and that actually seems to fluster Balthazar a little bit. Benny and Dean flank him, playing the part of stoic enforcers, and Dean wonders if Balthazar’s figured out who he is yet, if he has any reason or ability to know. 

“You’re going to have to refresh my memory, darling, I see so many pretty fac—” He’s cut off as Victor slams him again, and this time Balthazar winces. Dean bites back his own smirk, imagining the egg that’s going to pop up on the back of his head later tonight. No way he’s sleeping comfortably or getting any action on his back, that’s for sure. 

“Sorry, B,” Victor continues, fake sugar-sweet. “Thing is, I know we made it _ real _ clear the last time we talked that you owe us one, hell, maybe you owe us a hundred. People overdosing in your club isn’t a good look. Cops catch wind of all the shit you got going down here, you’re gonna find yourself out of business faster than you can say _ under the table.” _ Victor grins. “Far as I know you’ve upheld your end of the deal; you call the station when someone overdoses and we come down and pick ‘em up without involving the cops. They get to live, you don’t get shut down, everybody wins. But see, here’s the thing. You promised you wouldn’t be _ facilitating _ any actual drug use, and I’ve got a little birdie that tells me you’ve been breaking that promise.” Victor tuts and shakes his head in mock disapproval. “Naughty, naughty. So here’s the new deal. You tell us where Castiel is, right _ now, _or we’ll bring the cops down so hard on this place that by the time they’re done it’ll be so boring in here, nuns won’t wanna pay you a visit.” 

Balthazar swallows and lifts his hand to where Victor’s are bunched at his neck. “May I have my shirt back, at least?” He asks, and Victor lets him down, his sharp gaze still boring holes in his face. “Very well,” Balthazar continues, clearing his throat and smoothing down the wrinkled fabric over his chest. “You should know though, that Cassie is perfectly fine, he’s just tired of being smothered by this hairless ape.” He tilts his head towards Dean and Dean balks.

“The _ fuck _did you say?” He lunges at Balthazar but Benny holds him back with an arm across his chest. Dean lashes out anyway as the smirk returns to Balthazar’s face, his fist missing the other man by inches. “Where is he, you smug son of a bitch?” 

Balthazar points, two doors down the hallway to the room marked “Private,” the one that Dean had tried to enter earlier. He offers up a key, which Victor takes. Benny nods, still holding Dean back, and Victor fits the key in the lock and turns. The resulting “He’s here!” that comes seconds later rings in Dean’s ears, feeling almost unreal. He closes his eyes for a second and then opens them to find that Benny’s dropped his arm and is looking at him meaningfully. Without hesitation, he pulls back and clocks Balthazar across the face, watching with great satisfaction as the smarmy motherfucker drops like a stone to the floor, out cold. 

“Hey!” Victor’s voice calls out frantically from the back room. “We need the bag and the litter—_ now.” _Fear washes icily through Dean’s body at those words, like a bucket of freezing cold water dumped over his head, and he runs, Balthazar already forgotten. Benny’s no longer beside him and Dean can only assume he went for their gear, but he doesn’t make any attempt to find out. He skids to a stop in front of the office doorway and the sight that greets him feels like a physical fist around his heart.

“_Cas,_" he moans, taking in Castiel’s sprawled out body, a makeshift tourniquet loose around his upper arm and blood drooling from the tiny hole left behind where Victor had clearly _ just _removed the needle. It sits now on Balthazar’s desk, innocuous and innocent looking, as if it hadn’t possibly just ended Castiel’s life. Cas’ eyes are shut, his lips are already blue and Dean doesn’t even have to get that close to see that his nails are too. Victor’s shoving furniture aside with his back as he pushes Castiel into a better position to be worked on where he’s lying on the floor.

“Snap out of it, Winchester!” Victor’s firm voice cutting through the air hauls Dean back into the moment, into his body, making him realize that he’s _ just standing there, _frozen like an idiot, while Castiel is dying in front of him. “Shit,” Victor swears, two of his fingers on the pulse point of Cas’ neck. “Shit, it just stopped.” He layers one hand over the other and places them in the middle of Castiel’s chest, starting to pump hard and fast and counting out loud. “One, two, three, four, five, six…”

That sight, those _ words _ thrust Dean into action, kneeling down on Castiel’s other side and tipping his lifeless head back to open his airway. When Victor breaks, Dean leans down and seals his mouth over Cas’, breathing short puffs of air and watching to make sure his chest rises. It’s all surreal, and in some ways Dean feels like he’s standing back, watching it all happen from his place in the doorway. It’s not really his mouth sealing over Cas’ cool, slack lips. It’s not really his fingers on Cas’ pulse point, checking for any change, for the return of _ some _ sign of life. Benny’s arrival doesn’t change that, Dean just continues going through the motions, working the problem, telling himself _ this isn’t really happening. _

Benny hands him a needless syringe full of narcan with a nasal atomizer on the top and Dean shoves it in Cas’ nostril, emptying half of it inside, the other half in the other nostril. In the meantime, Benny hooks up the cardiac monitor and fires up the defibrillator, telling Victor to pause compressions for a moment while he checks Cas’ rhythm. 

_ No, not _ Cas’ _ rhythm, just _ the _ rhythm. This is just another patient. Just another junkie. It’s not Cas. It can’t be Cas. _

“V-fib!” Benny’s voice is excited and the clinical side of Dean’s brain cheers, at least his heart is shockable. At least there’s something they can _ do. _ All's not lost just yet. The monitor lets out a long, continuous beep as it charges in preparation to deliver a wave of electricity, and Victor’s voice echoes in Dean’s ear as he continues laying into Cas’ chest, “ _ Seventeen, eighteen, nineteen, twenty.” _ A bag valve mask is shoved into Dean’s hand and he fits it around Cas’ mouth and nose reflexively. The mask takes the place of his mouth, substituting his own breath with oxygen from a tank. He doesn’t want to, _ Dean _ wants to be the one to breathe for Cas if he’s not able to do for himself, but he forces his mind back into paramedic mode, makes his hands hold the seal of the mask and squeeze the bag.

“I’m clear, Victor’s clear, Dean, hands off!” Benny demands and Dean gets his hands in the air just as Benny adds, “I’m shocking,” pressing the button that makes Castiel arch his back towards the ceiling. It turns Dean’s stomach, makes him sick to watch. It’s a fucking mockery of the way he _ knows _Castiel’s body and how it moves, how he’s used to seeing him arch up under him just like that, but so, so completely different.

“_Six, seven, eight, nine, ten,” _Victor counts, and Dean breathes, and Benny gets an IV into Castiel’s arm and another round of Narcan straight into his veins. 

This time, it works. 

When Victor’s completed an entire minute of chest compressions following the shock, he stops and Dean gets his fingers back on Castiel’s neck. At first, he’s sure there’s nothing but then he feels it, a weak but steady _ throb, throb, throb, _flowing just underneath the pads of his fingers. 

“It’s there,” he says hoarsely. “It’s…” He glances over at the monitor and sees a normal sinus rhythm that matches the beats below his fingers, a noise escaping from the back of his throat as he realizes what this means. He sees Benny push another medication, probably zofran since narcan is famous for causing major vomiting, and then hang some saline, running it wide. He turns his gaze back to Cas’ face, delivering a few additional breaths and watching with morbid fascination as his lips turn from dusky purple back to their normal pink. “Fuck,” he whispers.

Castiel stirs and moans, his hands twitching at his sides as his eyelids flutter half-open. They stare straight ahead, not registering Dean at all before closing again. Castiel’s stomach contracts and Dean recognizes the signs, ripping the mask away and shoving him over onto his side just in time for him to vomit all over the floor. 

“It’s okay now, Cas,” Dean soothes, his hand pushing cool, sweaty hair off of Cas’ forehead. “I’ve got you.” Shivers settle in as soon as the vomiting stops, and Dean accepts a towel from Benny, wiping Cas’ face gently as he pulls him up and into his arms. 

“We gotta go, Dean,” Victor says gently. “The litter’s right outside the door.” Dean nods numbly, eyes glued to Cas’ still-fluttering ones, ears straining to hear the quiet sound of breath passing through Cas’ parted lips. 

“I’ve got him,” Dean says, quiet but determined. The other two don’t argue, Benny just piles the cords and the bag of saline onto Cas’ chest, folding his arm up and across his stomach to protect the IV. Victor crouches on Cas’ other side, ready to help lift if necessary. Dean gathers Castiel up in a bridal carry and once again pushes down how _wrong _it feels, how _horrible _this all is, forcing himself to stand and grunting under Cas’ weight. Victor reaches out, supporting Cas and Dean as he gets to his feet, but ultimately Dean manages on his own, carefully carrying Cas with Benny holding the heart monitor and all the wires up over him. 

When Dean lays Castiel down on the stretcher, his droopy eyelids finally open all the way, but his eyes are dull and unseeing and his body shakes with cold and withdrawal and god knows what else. “Cas,” Dean whispers, cupping his cheek and dropping his forehead to press against Cas’ waxy one, only moving when Benny urges him forward. Dean feels like _ he _might actually collapse but Victor’s hand is strong and sure between his shoulder blades as they wheel Castiel through the club and out to the ambulance.

Dean barely notices as they pass Balthazar at the bar, his face shocked and pale save for where a purpling bruise is blooming over one cheekbone. He stares down at Castiel as they pass, a hand coming up to cover his mouth. Dean ignores the parting sea of sweaty, intoxicated bodies stepping aside willingly in order to make way for their own worst nightmare. He barely nods his thanks to the bouncers as they hold open the outside doors, as they follow to the ambulance, asking if they can do anything else to help. One face just blurs into another, neon lights distorting features and his own paralyzing fear keeping him from doing anything besides clutching Castiel’s hand and putting one foot in front of the other. It’s only when they’re locked safely inside the ambulance, doors closed, Victor in the front, Benny and Dean in the back, that he even registers that the music inside the club had been cut off. 

Castiel’s still not fully conscious, so Benny tries to shove an oral airway into his mouth, but he gags, pushes it back out with his tongue. _ That’s a good sign, _ Dean thinks dully. _ A good sign. A good sign. A good sign. Whatever that means. _Dean sits in the Captain’s chair at Castiel’s head and glances out the tiny window in the side door. The red from their own emergency lights dances across pavement and parked cars as the truck lurches forward, adding to the surreal feeling he’s still fighting off from swallowing him whole. He watches as Benny gives Castiel oxygen via a regular mask, hangs the bag of fluid from a hook, does a 12-lead EKG on Castiel’s chest, lubricates and inserts a nasal airway. 

He knows he should help, should _ offer _ at least, but the adrenaline he’d scored as a result of Castiel literally dying on the floor in front of him is wearing off and now he’s nothing but _ numb. _ He weaves hands into Castiel’s hair, slips off the chair and onto the floor where it’s easier to rest his head on the top of the stretcher. He presses up against Cas, where he can _ see _ his pulse throbbing in his neck and his breath fogging the inside of the mask. Benny seems to get it, glancing down at him sympathetically every so often but generally leaving him to his own pathetic devices. The hard edge of the stretcher presses painfully into his thigh but Dean wouldn’t dream of moving, couldn’t if he wanted to. He feels Benny reach over his head to key up the radio mounted underneath the cabinets, listens as he recounts the entirety of _ Castiel _in numbers and terminology that’s as familiar as a fall day and yet means absolutely nothing to him right now. 

“Medical history?” Dean lifts his head to see Benny looking down at him, waiting. He has to repeat his question followed by, “Anything else? Besides the drug use? Major illnesses, surgeries, medications he takes?” Dean swallows hard and shakes his head, sitting up for the first time and scrubbing a hand over his face.

“I, uh, he had his appendix out. When we were kids. Eleven, maybe twelve years old? I skipped school and snuck into the hospital.” Benny nods and politely looks down at his clipboard, ignoring the fact that Dean’s eyes are welling up and giving him the opportunity to discreetly wipe his face. “Pretty sure he had surgery when he was seventeen, he got stabbed in the gut. Other than that? Maybe some allergy medication, but I haven’t seen him take it recently.” 

The truck slows and sways a little as it passes over a speed bump, an indicator to Dean that they’re arriving at the hospital. They swing around and the backup alarm sounds as Victor maneuvers the rig to park in front of the EMS arrival doors. Dean looks down at Castiel’s face and finds his eyes still half-open and glazed, looking but not seeing. It’s terrifying, and Dean finds himself unwillingly wondering if _ his _Cas is even still in there at all. He drops his head back onto the sheet-covered cushion beside Cas’ ear and manages to whisper, “Love you,” before he’s forced to push his face and nose into the sheet just to avoid bursting into tears. 

The back doors to the truck swing open and Dean hears Benny tell Victor to wait a minute as he maneuvers the cardiac monitor and the oxygen into place between Castiel’s legs, giving him an extra minute to pull his shit together under the pretense of fussing with the gear’s positioning. Dean’s so fucking grateful he could puke. 

When he finally sits up, Victor gives him a tight smile before unlocking the stretcher and sliding it out, the locking mechanism at the head preventing it from sliding out completely and falling to the ground. Benny jumps out beside Cas and helps lower the legs, straightening and offering Dean a hand that he refuses. He reaches down himself to unlock the head and their little group starts towards the ER doors. 

“I look that bad you thought I needed my hand held to get out of the truck?” Dean knows his voice is rough and that he’s fooling no one with his weak jokes, but Benny laughs and punches him in the arm with the hand that’s not guiding the stretcher.

“That ain’t because of Cas, brother,” he says with a wink. “I just know how much you like to hold hands with the boys, wouldn’t want to deprive you of an opportunity to get close to this fine piece.” It’s so unexpected and ridiculous that Dean can’t help but laugh in return, a short but very real one that sends a wave of relief through his system. The automatic doors open with a swipe of Victor’s badge, and then they’re awash in a sea of scrubs and the smell of disinfectant.

“Right here, B1,” the charge nurse directs them as they step into the main ER. Benny touches Dean lightly on the shoulder as Victor turns the stretcher to back it properly into the room.

“S’good to hear you laugh, cher. You promise me you’ll hang in there.” There’s already a huge number of people flooding Cas’ room, and Benny turns his attention to the nurse and doctor waiting for report. “This here is Castiel,” he begins, “He’s one of us, so I know you’ll take good care of him.” Dean has to turn away for a minute at that, stepping out of the room and off to the side as Benny finishes his rundown of what happened and what they’d done in response, listing the medications and treatments they’d administered to Castiel’s body in order. He hears the doctor thank Benny and then straight away order a bunch of things, including another dose of Narcan, just as Victor exits the room with the stretcher, Benny right on his heels. 

“Good luck, Dean,” Victor says sincerely as he pushes the bed past him and out into the EMS hallway to be restocked and remade. Dean nods his thanks as his eyes slide to his Lieutenant.

“I’m sorry for all this,” he says, looking Benny in the eyes, but the other man waves him off, shaking his head.

“Nothing to apologize for, my friend. This is what we do. Now you stay here, take care of your man. You just let me know what kind of time you need off, alright? And when y’all get out of here, if Cas won’t check-in to rehab, you text me. I’ll bring you by some supplies, help make him more comfortable at home. Nothing controlled, of course, but fluids, Zofran.” Dean’s surging forward before he even really realizes what he’s doing. He’s not usually the hugging type but Benny’s open support overwhelms him with gratitude and affection.

“Thank you, man,” he says gruffly into his shoulder as Benny claps him on the back. 

“I told you,” Benny says firmly after he pulls away. “This is what we _ do. _You’re family now, and that means so is Cas. We’ve got your back, brother.” He claps Dean on the shoulder one last time and disappears off around the corner to help Victor clean up and put the truck back in service. 

Dean takes a deep, shaky breath, steadying himself physically and mentally. Abruptly, he realizes he hasn’t told Gabe what happened, and fires off a quick text message before turning to step forward inside Castiel’s room. He’s not remotely prepared for what he sees when he looks up from his phone. 

Castiel’s awake.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Warnings: Overdose (Cas) with graphic descriptions, detailed medical procedures including resuscitation, emotionally hurt Dean.


	11. Turning Point

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Track:[Brilliant Disguise by Bruce Springsteen](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=idnJnjV_8rg)

_Tonight our bed is cold,_  
_lost in the darkness of our love._  
_God have mercy on the man,_  
_who doubts what he's sure of._

Everything is _ awful _ . Consciousness, to begin with. Castiel’s head pounds, his muscles twitch and ache, his stomach rebels and attempts to turn itself inside out. At first, he refuses to open his eyes, confused and scared because the last thing he remembers is drifting off on a beautiful, painless cloud into the deepest, sweetest sleep he could ever imagine. And this, the way he feels right now, is _ not _what waking up from a hit wearing off feels like. Castiel knows this feeling, considering it’s the very thing he was attempting to run from. There’s light on the other side of his eyelids, people talking and other foreign sounds beyond that, but Castiel resists, tries to force himself back down into the black hole he’d been perfectly happy drowning in. His chest feels like someone took a baseball bat to it and that’s strange, but not enough to distract him from the agony coursing through the rest of his body.

He groans and kicks out his legs, finally letting his eyes crack open only to groan some more before his stomach wrenches and he bends in half, turning on his side to vomit forcefully. Somewhere in his mind he registers that he’s on a bed, half-hanging off the side at this point, and is surprised when small, soft hands catch him and stick a bucket under his face just in time. He empties what little there is left in his stomach, mostly bile, and sits back, panting and attempting to catch his breath.

Castiel’s eyes dart around the room and the equipment lining the walls, helping him realize that he’s in a hospital. His hands flex anxiously in the sheets as his legs curl up involuntarily under him. The discomfort is _ so _ bad he can hardly think straight, can’t even begin to process what happened or how he got here, all he knows is that he needs to get _ out _so that he can fix it. His hands release the sheets to paw at the pockets of his jeans, only to find that they’re gone, replaced with a hospital gown and nothing else. He opens his mouth to cry out and nothing comes save for a cracked squeak and a cough. The nurse offers him a small sip of water, which he gratefully accepts.

“Just hang in there, sweetheart,” she soothes, and Castiel wants to rip her pretty face off.

“Please,” he croaks out, “hurts.” 

“I know it does, sugar. One of the other nurses is pulling something for you right now and—oh, here she is.” The nurse nods at the door and Castiel manages to follow her gaze to a second nurse bustling into the room with a handful of syringes. It’s only then that he notices there’s someone else in the doorway, and he swallows heavily, tears springing to his eyes as he takes in Dean’s distraught face.

“No,” he whispers, but before he can elaborate the tremors and crawling sensations in his extremities seem to ramp up all over again, and he’s flailing on the bed, moaning and crying and miserable, Dean’s presence pushed completely from his mind.

“Alright, honey,” the same nurse tells him, and her voice _ grates. _Castiel feels something cool flow up his arm, then something warm, and he turns his head to see the nurse pushing the multiple syringes into his IV tubing. “This won’t be perfect, but it should help. Something for the nausea, something for the discomfort.”

“Just let me go,” Castiel begs, “I didn’t ask for this, I don’t want your help. Let me go!” 

“Can’t do that, cupcake. You were clinically dead not an hour ago.” She looks down at him pointedly, and Castiel can only blink back, stunned into silence. While he gapes, the medicine she’s pushed starts kicking in, and while it’s no heroin high, it _ does _take the edge off of his suffering fairly quickly. The horrifying crawling sensations fade until they’re almost gone and the nausea all but disappears, allowing him to at least relax back into the shitty bed and providing him enough brain power to focus up at the ceiling, calculating his next move. He suddenly feels a bone-deep exhaustion, though not the chemical kind that sucks you under against your will. He wishes it were. 

Castiel blatantly ignores the nurse’s further attempts to speak with him, to ask him questions, until she finally gives up and leaves. He shuts his eyes and tries valiantly to forget about the fact that he and Dean are now alone and he’s a prisoner again, exactly where he _ didn’t _want to end up earlier. At least the relaxants are kicking in while the reversal drugs he was clearly given earlier are starting to wear off, leaving him feeling more alright than he has in days. He knows it won’t last though, knows he has mere hours until the withdrawal symptoms are sinking their teeth into him once more, and therefore, the clock is ticking. 

He has to get out. 

Castiel squeezes his eyes shut and tries his best to come up with a plan. He needs clothes and shoes and a way out of here, first of all. Then he’ll need to stop home and replenish his stash, shoot up again. He might have to take the entire thing and run, seeing as how Dean’s intent on chasing him down and—

“Cas?” Dean’s voice breaks through his thoughts and makes him stiffen up from head to toe. Torn between wanting the ground to open up and swallow Dean whole and the desire to bury himself in Dean’s arms, Castiel splits the difference and just lays there, eyes closed, perfectly still. He hears Dean pull up a chair beside the bed and then the rustling of his pants as he sits down, but that’s it. Dean doesn’t push, doesn’t demand he speak, doesn’t say anything at all. After a few minutes, Castiel cracks open his eyes to find him sitting with his hands laced behind his neck, his head so low it’s almost resting on the side of the bed. As he stares, Dean’s shoulders start to shake, and Castiel realizes with a small amount of horror that he’s crying. _ Fuck. _

As he’s staring, the nurse steps back into the room and Dean keeps his head down. She pegs him right away though, her gaze softening as it takes in the dejected curve of his shoulders, hardening again as it passes over Castiel. She stands at his bedside and hangs a bag of clear fluid on the hook above his head, scanning his bracelet before swiping his IV port with an alcohol pad.

“Antibiotics,” she explains before attaching the bag’s tubing to his IV. “That vein in the crook of your arm there is looking a little red. Wouldn’t want to bring you back from the dead just to let you kick it from a little staph infection.” Castiel glares down at his lap and doesn’t respond. IV situated, the nurse stands over him silently for a moment, hands on her hips. “You’re a cold one, aren’t you?” 

That gets his attention, and Castiel redirects his pissed off pout up to her face. “How do you mean?” 

She makes a face and her eyes flicker over to Dean again. “Well, for one thing, the way I hear it, your boyfriend here saved your life,” she says plainly, and Castiel’s stomach drops, his eyes reflexively darting to Dean. The nurse makes a noncommittal noise and heads for the door. “Was hoping you just didn’t know,” she says without looking back, exiting the room and returning to the nurses’ station in front of them. Castiel’s eyes follow her, but when he looks back Dean is sitting up, his eyes red and puffy, wet tracks running down his cheeks. He sniffs and wipes his nose with the back of his hand.

Castiel feels a wave of guilt metaphorically knock him on his ass. _ He didn’t know. _ “I didn’t know,” he whispers. “Dean, I didn’t...” But Dean avoids looking him in the eye and waves him off, settling instead for attempting to stare a hole through Castiel’s bedsheets. Once again, Castiel’s torn. He _ still _wants nothing more than to get the fuck out of here, to score and to get high and to leave this entire mess behind. But he’s not cruel, and his love for Dean still exists, even if he’s finding it hard to put him first, the way he so clearly deserves.

“I _ am _ sorry, Dean,” Castiel finally says. “I don’t expect you to stick around or to try and help me again. I understand that what I put you through is horrific and probably could be considered abusive. I don’t want to hurt you, I _ never _wanted to hurt you, but I can see that those intentions only paved the road to Hell.”

Dean finally raises his eyes, and Castiel’s unprepared for how mournful, how purely _ sad _ Dean looks. There’s no anger, no animosity anywhere he can see, just exhaustion, anguish, and heartbreak. “Can I…” he reaches out towards Castiel’s lap, where both of his hands are clasped and Castiel nods with some reluctance. He _ knows _that he should push Dean away for Dean’s own sanity, for his well-being, but he’s weak, he’s always been weak, especially where Dean is concerned. Dean takes Castiel’s hand but instead of threading their fingers together, slides two of his own to rest on the inside of his arm, pressing down gently on the sensitive skin at his pulse point. He’s perfectly silent as he does this, his eyes drifting closed for a moment as he lets his whole hand slide to close around Castiel’s wrist.

Swallowing hard, Castiel feels shame, _ so _ much shame. He _ wishes _things were simple, wishes to God he could just let Dean take him home, curl up in his arms and stay there until everything is alright again. He considers for a moment that he could at least try.

_ You’ll fail, _ a voice in the back of his mind tells him. _ Nothing has changed. You’ll only end up hurting him more. _

“You should go home,” he says, as gently as possible. “There’s nothing else you can do for me, Dean.” A tear wells up and leaks out of his eye as he speaks, despite his best attempts at keeping his voice level and his emotions at bay. Everything just feels so wrong, so fucked up. _ How did they get here? How did he get here? _ More than anything, Castiel wishes he could rewind time and take it back, take it _ all _back, but wishes aren’t anything more concrete than dust in the wind, and Castiel’s a lost fucking cause. 

Dean’s face morphs quickly from sadness to anger, settling on an amalgamation of the two, and _ of course, _that’s when Gabriel walks in. 

“Hello, Gabriel,” Castiel says, pre-empting the argument Dean was inevitably about to start. “You shouldn’t have come down here, I was just leaving.”

“Leaving? Cassie, I just spoke to the nurse and—”

“The hell you are,” Dean cuts in angrily. “No _ fucking _way, Cas.” Castiel raises an eyebrow and yanks his hand back from Dean’s grasp. 

“I’m awake, I know where I am, and I’m not a danger to myself or others. They can’t hold me,” Castiel replies reasonably. He scans the room for his clothes and realizes with some concern that they’re in a plastic see-through bag on the counter. Unfortunately, he can see clearly that they’re shredded, likely done while he was unconscious. At least his shoes look intact. 

“Not a—_ Cas,” _ Dean hisses. “What the fuck is wrong with you? You _ died. _ I had to—” Dean chokes on his words a little, covering his mouth and shaking his head. “If you won’t do it for yourself, do it for the kids. They need you, Cas. We need you. _ I _need you, please. Let me take you home, me and Gabe have a whole plan now, it’s worth a shot, I—” 

“No,” Castiel replies firmly, and Dean sits back as if he’s been slapped.

“_No?” _ He repeats, incredulous, as Castiel pushes himself to the side of the bed Dean is _ not _ on and rips out his IV, tape and all, with one good yank. Blood pools on the back of his hand, but that’s an everyday occurrence for him lately. “The fuck you mean, _ no?” _

“Jesus fuck, Cassie, here,” Gabriel rushes to the little sink on the counter and grabs paper towels, shoving them into Castiel’s hands as Dean leans over and pushes the call button for the nurse. “Let’s talk about this.” 

“Nah, you heard him, Gabe,” Dean sneers, though Castiel ignores him in favor of opening the bag of clothes and fishing out his jeans. “Junkie wants to go get high, there’s no reasoning with addicts as far fucking gone as him.” That one stings, but he’s not wrong, so Castiel stays silent. He finds that the jeans he was wearing aren’t actually cut and so he steps into them, a bout of dizziness causing him to need to grab at the counter for support so he doesn’t fall over. The sudden movement makes his chest throb, and he winces. He can’t fucking wait to get home and dip into his stash. As he sits down on the bed to pull on his shoes, he can see Dean and Gabe making furious motions at each other out of the corner of his eye. 

Abruptly, Gabe pulls out a kazoo and aims it at Dean’s throat. “Stop being a pussy. Man _ up _ and fucking _ do _something,” he demands, quickly realizing the kazoo isn’t actually a weapon, tossing it over his shoulder and picking up a bedpan. He hauls back like he’s gonna whack Dean with it and Dean cowers, throwing his hands up.

“The _ fuck, _man?”

“I’ll do it,” Gabriel says very seriously. “Come on, Dean, he can _ take me. _ Hold him down, tie him up, _ do something. _ And where the hell are these nurses? What do you gotta do to get some attention around here?” He sticks his head out into the hall. “Hey, someone’s been stabbed in here!” He yells out. 

Shoes on, Castiel stands and gets between Dean and his brother. “Gabriel, stop,” he says with an eye roll, reaching out to push the bedpan down out of the air. “I’m fine and my choices are my own. You don’t have to like them, but I haven’t asked for your opinion or your help. I’ve never needed you to look out for me, nor have you tried, and you don’t need to pretend to start now.” Clearly stung, Gabriel blinks and lifts a hand to his chest. “Save it,” Castiel admonishes, stepping around him and walking out the door.

“We tossed your stash and I hid the squirrel fund,” Gabriel calls after him angrily. “So fuck you too,” he finishes, a finger in the air. Castiel doesn’t answer, just does his best to memorize the perfect beauty of Dean’s face, even flushed with anger, one last time. 

***

Castiel’s search for smack isn’t going very well. He’d stolen a bicycle out of someone’s front yard a few blocks away from the hospital and rode it back to the club, achy body and all. But after deciding to go for the money first, Balthazar had taken one look at him and turned as pale as a ghost. The club was closing and it had been the perfect time for him to sneak away, but the man acted like he couldn’t even stand to _ look _ at Castiel, never mind fuck him. Annoyed and frustrated, he’d made a few desperate attempts to exchange sex for drugs with the dealers still hanging around the dance floor, but it was like he had a scarlet _ A _pinned to his chest, no one would do business with him, no one would touch him. 

_ What the fuck had gone down here? _

It wasn’t until after he’d left the club that he realized his pariah status very likely had something to do with the fact that he was wearing a fucking hospital gown as a shirt, with a bloodstain all down the side of it at that. _ Jesus Christ, he’s fallen so far. _ Still, Cas is no quitter, so he tucked the gown as best as he could into his jeans and scoured the outside of the club for any undiscerning takers. _ No dice. _

He’d finally given up, getting back on the bicycle and riding slowly around town, hitting up various hot spots with no better luck. Something was definitely going on, these streets were always flush with drugs, and heroin was never hard to find. He briefly contemplated going straight to Kali but figured Gabriel would probably already have cut that source off, or worse, be waiting there for him to show up. Anxious and starting to become desperate, a familiar cool sweat appearing on his brow, Castiel had hit up the homeless encampment under the bridge near his house.

Once again, he was told that no one was holding, but this time an older man with a long, brown-stained beard and kind blue eyes suggests that he try a _ very _familiar address.

It takes Castiel a minute to process, the words not quite lining up in his brain with what he knows about reality. He’d known that Dean’s old house had been condemned, of course. Known that houses in the city that suffered the same fate frequently turned into havens for illegal squatters and drug use. But somehow, he hadn’t connected those two things _ together _ before this. Stunned, and ambivalent about the idea of shooting up in a place that held so many emotional memories for him, Castiel rides away from the makeshift tent city but almost doesn’t go. _ Almost. _It’s just, there aren’t any other options. But even when he skids to a stop in front of the house on his stolen bike and stares up the decrepit mess it’s become, he’s not sure that he can make himself walk in. But as always, the desire to get high wins out in the end, his body’s cravings making the final decision on the matter.

And Castiel’s body would have, undoubtedly, decided to go inside had there not been someone sitting on the front steps, blocking his way. 

“Chuck.” Castiel greets his sort-of father warily, with narrowed eyes and open distrust. “What are you doing here? Gabriel said you were hiding out at Mrs. Rosen’s.” 

Chuck makes a face and waves a hand vaguely down the street before grabbing the brown-bagged bottle next to him and taking a long swig. “I _ was. _ I am. Listen to me Castiel, let me give you some advice. I spent ten years in a Mexican prison but Becky is into some _ wild _ shit. Man, I can't be around that twenty-four seven. A man needs his _ space _!"

“Uh huh,” Castiel replies, ignoring the fact that no actual advice had been given. “Could you move?”

“Becky has this thing for dildos. I will _ never _understand it, but a man has needs and she also makes a hell of a pot roast. Always has beer in the fridge. You know when the last time I had pot roast was?”

“No,” Castiel says shortly, wondering if he can just step over Chuck without risking falling through one of the rotted steps. 

“Two thousand and _ six,” _ Chuck declares with a disgusted shake of his head. “Right before your mother really started going off the deep end, you know…” He widens his eyes and uses his finger to make a circling motion next to his temple. _ Crazy, _he’s pantomiming, and Castiel feels a not-unusual desire to punch him in the throat.

“Maybe she wouldn’t have gone off the deep end if you hadn’t drank all of her money away and let her down at every turn,” he suggests instead, but Chuck just frowns and shakes his head. His too-long hair is ragged and visibly dirty. Castiel wonders if it’s oily enough to set on fire with his lighter, enjoying the mental image of Chuck’s head going up in flames. 

“Nah,” real-life Chuck replies, holding the bagged bottle around the neck and swinging it in small circles between his knees. “Your mom came from bad stock, kiddo. Just like you and that _ drug dealing _ criminal of a brother you have living in _ my _ house. Lucky _ my _kids didn’t get those genes, oh no, nothing but top notch Shurley DNA for them.” He looks up and eyes Castiel skeptically. “You better not have fucked them up too badly while I was away.” 

Castiel grits his teeth and resists the urge to rip Chuck up one side and down the other, knowing that it won’t matter. It’s not as if he’ll even remember this conversation ten minutes from now, not that it makes the jabs about his mother hurt any less. 

“They’re nothing like you,” he growls. “None of us are. As if you know anything about Gabriel and me at all.” Chuck’s amused expression only makes his fury grow. “You know what? _ Fuck _ you. You _ left _ us. You were gone for _ twelve years, _ Chuck. Gabriel—Gabriel and I were _ children. _ We didn’t deserve this!” He pauses, mouth open, waiting for Chuck to react but he just tips his head to the side and takes another drink. “We didn’t deserve this,” Castiel continues. “Adult choices, adult responsibilities at sixteen years old. I’ve been selling my ass on the streets since before I could _ vote. _ And that’s on _ you. _ Everything I’ve done, everything _ Gabe _ has done to make sure those kids had food in their bellies and a roof over their heads, every law we broke, every drug I slammed, every goddamn kid in this neighborhood Gabriel’s gotten hooked on speed. Those things are on _ your _head, Chuck.”

As Castiel stands there and rants, he realizes something. Everything he’s saying is _ true, _and somehow, suddenly, he’s finally able to believe it. Just like that. He blinks and shakes his head. “We were just kids trying to get by,” he says, the words sticking in his throat a little. “I did what I had to do. No thanks to you.” 

Chuck’s silent for a moment, tapping his fingers on the side of his beer. Finally, he raises his eyes and looks straight at Castiel. “Does it really matter?” His voice is unaffected, slurred but calm as Castiel furrows his brow and cocks his head in disbelief. “You still ended up here, didn’t you? A junkie whore ready to spend your last cent on whatever your vice of choice is. You think I don’t know what this house is? You came here to die, Castiel. Just like your mom, just like me. There’s noooo escaping it, so you can pretend to sit up on your high horse all you want but in the end, you and me? We’re the same.” Chuck grins and lifts his bottle in a mock toast. “To us,” he says cheerfully.

Castiel looks down at his hands. He sees the trail of dried blood running from the inside of his elbow all the way down his pinkie. He thinks about everything his hands have done, everywhere they’ve _ been, _ and everything he wanted for them once upon a time. And for the _second _time since his mother died, the first since Dean told him he didn’t care about what he did for a living, Castiel realizes that he wants more. 

“No,” he says softly, a small smile catching on the side of his mouth.

“No, what?” Chuck asks, leaning back and lounging across the decaying steps. 

“I’m not you,” he replies, looking up and steeling his gaze. “I’m _ not _ you, and I’m not my mother. Both of you had _ everything _ and you chose to throw it away. You decided to check out, to toss us to the curb, to be asshole addict _ losers_.” Castiel _ laughs_. Tips his head back so that he’s looking up at the stars and honest-to-God _ laughs. _ “ _ God, _ what is _ wrong _ with me?” 

Chuck shrugs. “You lookin’ for a list?” 

“Not from you,” Castiel shoots back. “I have a family. I have brothers and sisters and someone who loves me. I don’t need this. I don’t _ need _ this.” It’s strange to hear out loud, foreign but… right, somehow. _ How the fuck has it taken so long for him to see things so clearly? _

Chuck just rolls his eyes. “You’ll be back,” he says with a dismissive hand gesture, as Castiel walks away towards his bike. Castiel turns to look at him, all sprawled out and lonely, drunk and high and who knows what else, literally on the doorstep of a death trap. In a flash, he’s not looking at Chuck anymore but himself, twenty years older and still breathing but not even remotely alive. 

_ He’s not Chuck. He doesn’t want this. _He squeezes his eyes shut again and when they open, the vision of himself is gone and Chuck is back, in all his pathetic glory.

“No,” he replies firmly. “I won’t.” 

“MY WORK HERE IS DONE!” He hears Chuck calling triumphantly after him as he pedals away, but he doesn’t spare a second to even wonder what it is he’s talking about. He’s got far more important things to focus on. Withdrawal is sending creeping tendrils down his spine, the sweat on his forehead and the twitch of his muscles letting him know that he’s running on borrowed time. Thankfully, _ thankfully, _ he’s only a few hundred yards from home—and from _ Dean_. 

All he can hope for now is that Dean will forgive him, that he’ll still be willing to help. As he dismounts the stolen bike in front of the Winchesters’ house, he closes his eyes for a moment and prays he’s not too late, that he hasn’t done irreparable damage to Dean, and to their relationship. The first rays of dawn are just starting to poke their way over the eastern mountain ridge, and Castiel can’t help but feel that it’s a _ sign. _

A new day. He’ll fucking take it.

When Castiel knocks and Sam cracks open the door bed-headed and groggy, Castiel’s instantly thrown back to all those weeks ago when he ran home from the club without stopping to enlist Sam in rescuing Gabe from prison. He realizes with not a small amount of horror that he doesn’t even know how Gabe’s case is _ doing, _not even when his court dates are. He’s up shit creek in so many ways he’s starting to fucking lose count.

“Cas?” Sam’s voice is sleepy and suspicious, and Castiel can’t help but notice that he doesn’t take the chain off of the door. He laces his fingers together to keep himself from clenching and unclenching or picking, but he knows it’s somewhat of a useless effort to try and hide the fact that he’s jonesing from Sam of all people.

“Hello, Sam,” he says, doing his best to infuse an apology into those words. “Is Dean home? May I speak to him?”

Through the visible crack in the door, Sam’s eyes narrow, and he doesn’t bother to turn on the light. The shadows framing his face only heighten the intimidation factor, and Castiel can’t help but shrink a little under his glare.

“No,” Sam replies curtly.

Castiel blinks and stumbles backward a little. “Oh,” he replies. “I understand. I’ll just—” 

“Cas,” Sam sighs, finally unlocking the chain and opening the door wide. He doesn’t ask Castiel to come in, but he does come out, grabbing something off of the table next to the door, the one that the brothers keep their keys in. Sam shuffles across the small front porch and plops down heavily on the top step, patting the space next to him as he glances up at Castiel. Somewhat confused but clinging to the fact that he’s not being turned away outright, Castiel sits down beside him, wrapping his arms around his legs. 

Sam’s silent at first as he unzips the pouch he grabbed, pulling out a glass pipe and a small baggie of weed. Despite himself and the circumstances, Castiel smiles. “Fitting back in around here, are we?” 

His mouth quirking up on one side, Sam packs the bowl and flicks his lighter inside it, puffing on the pipe to get the weed burning. Once he’s satisfied, he takes a long hit before passing it over to Castiel, who copies him and then hands the pipe back. The smoke is calming, and Castiel breathes a sigh of relief as he exhales and discovers the edge of his symptoms pleasantly dulled. It’s not perfect and it won’t do much when the worst of withdrawal sets in, but for now, it helps. He shuffles to lean back against the railing, facing Sam.

Sam blows out a long stream of smoke and stares thoughtfully out at the street for a long moment before speaking. “You’ve been acting like a real asshole, Cas,” he finally says, still not making eye contact.

“I know,” Castiel replies softly, focusing his gaze down at his hands. “That’s why I—I need to apologize to Dean.” 

Sam huffs and shakes his head, running a hand through long shaggy hair before dropping it to the porch with a loud clap that startles Castiel a little. “That’s not… It’s not just _ Dean, _Cas.” He pauses to take another hit, swearing when he accidentally burns his finger with the lighter. Castiel wordlessly takes the pipe when he offers it, but only takes another hit because he really needs it to stay focused on the conversation. Sam lets out a frustrated little growl.

“You’re so goddamn stubborn,” he says. “You know, I’ve kept my mouth shut for a while now. I didn’t push when you turned down Dean’s help and then mine that day when I brought the laundry back. I tried to respect your wishes and your pride and looking back now, I really wish I hadn’t. What is it about me and Dean that makes us only good enough to accept help from when there’s literally _ no _ other option?” Sam’s head swivels in Castiel’s direction, and his eyes are back to being narrow and angry. “Seriously, Cas, tell me, ‘cause I don’t understand. Chuck abandons you for _ twelve years _and all he has to do is show up and he’s suddenly back in, but Dean and I, you keep at arm’s length?” 

“He’s family,” Castiel whispers. “He’s…” He trails off, not sure where he was intending to go with that statement, and Sam’s eyes flash.

“_ Family, _ right.” He nods, and the action even _ looks _ sarcastic to Cas. “Because he, what? Shares some blood with your kids? What makes someone family, Cas? Is blood all that matters to you? What about _ being there? _ What about love and support and trust? What about letting someone you care about clog up your washing machine at all hours of the night? Or steal your toaster and splice your cable? Or how about being totally fine with being woken up in the middle of the night and sent down to the courthouse to do the job they do every day _ for free? _Any of those things sound like stuff family might do for each other?”

Castiel’s mouth drops open a little, and he finds himself feeling an immense amount of shame. But Sam isn’t done.

“You only let us in when you’ve got _ no _ other choice, and I guess you haven’t noticed but we _ want _ to help. _ I _ want to help. Cas, you made me chicken soup when I was eight and had the flu, do you think I don’t remember that? Or when you and Dean would go steal mac and cheese from the bodega and split it to make sure all of us kids got some, but you and him wouldn’t even eat? What about the time Dad forgot my birthday and you gave Dean your old skateboard to give to me?” Sam pauses to swipe angrily at his eyes. “You let Chuck back in because you don’t give up on family, right? But you’re comfortable telling me and Dean to give up on _ you?” _

“Sam, I ….” Castiel trails off, at a total loss for words.“I never thought of it that way…”

“No,” Sam sniffles, his tone laced with bitterness. “I know you didn’t. But _ we _ do, Cas because guess what? You’re _ our _ fucking family, you dumbass, and family don’t end in blood. And you have _ no _ idea how much it hurts to see you killing yourself because you won’t let us _ help. _”

Shocked into silence, Castiel just blinks, truly realizing for the first time what a genuine assbutt he’s been, and how this entire situation could have been avoided if he’d just let go of his stubborn pride. _ Of course, _ Sam is right. Despite time and distance, the Winchesters have been his family for over twenty years. _ God, what has he done? _

“I’ll make it right, Sam, I’m so, so sorry,” he tries, and Sam reaches out blindly to cover Cas’ hand with his own. 

“I know you will, Cas. A blind person could see how much you love Dean, all you have to do is let him love you back. And that _ includes _ accepting money when he offers it. Or me,” Sam adds as an afterthought, shooting him a pointed sidelong glance. He takes a deep, shaky breath. “I became a criminal defense lawyer for a reason. I grew up on these streets right alongside you, Cas, I know how people end up needing someone who knows the law and is really on their side. By that same token though, I also know that it’s possible to get out, to do better if you _ really _want to, if you have the right kind of support. And I know I’m pushing it tonight, I know you must feel like shit and that you still need to talk to Dean, but you’re gonna promise me something if you want back in that house.”

Castiel raises his eyebrows expectantly and waits for Sam to continue.

“When you’re done detoxing, when things are better? You’re gonna let me help you do that. I’ve got some ideas, nothing we need to hash out tonight but… no more street shit. No more drugging yourself to work, no more selling your body for cash.” Sam bites his lip and then reconsiders. “I mean, unless you want to. Healthy sex work is a thing.” 

Castiel scrubs a hand over his face and shakes his head. “I haven’t wanted to for a while now. I just didn’t…” He pauses and considers his words. “I _ couldn’t _ see that there might be a better way.” He scoots forward on the weathered wood and reaches out to hug Sam. “I’m so sorry, Sam,” he says, tears welling in his eyes. “I never meant to make you feel…”

“It’s okay,” Sam replies, accepting the hug and squeezing Castiel tightly around his back. When he pulls away, Sam’s smiling softly. “You should go up and see Dean. He’s pretty miserable, I doubt he’s sleeping.” 

Castiel nods and steals Sam’s pipe for one last hit. When he’s done, he says, “In the interest of our new agreement, may I ask you for a favor?” 

“Anything,” Sam replies quickly.

“Gabriel should have some medication for me. To help with the withdrawal,” he clarifies. “Would you mind telling him that I’ll need it? And…” Castiel hesitates. “This is embarrassing, but I know now that I’m not at all in my right mind when I reach the peak of withdrawal. It would probably be in Dean’s best interest if you two would… be here. Nearby, at least. Just in case.” Castiel’s face burns and he can’t seem to look up from his lap but Sam just takes it all in stride. 

“Wouldn’t dream of being anywhere else,” he says sincerely. When Castiel still doesn’t budge, he touches his shoulder. “Cas,” he says. “We’re going to get you through this, I promise.” His throat and mouth thick and dry, Castiel just nods and stands, still avoiding eye contact.

“Thank you, Sam,” he says softly, as he makes his way to the door.

“That’s what family is for,” Sam replies without hesitation. “I’ll see you in a bit.” 

***

The one thing Castiel _ doesn’t _expect to see as he makes his way through the house and up to Dean’s room, is Dean himself waiting at the top of the stairs with a strange expression on his face. There’s a bit of a stand-off as Castiel hesitates on the landing halfway up the steps and Dean stares down at him, neither of them apparently sure what to do next. The awkward silence is broken abruptly when they both speak at once.

“I’m so sorry,” Castiel starts.

“Is it true?” Dean’s voice carries over Cas’ small, ashamed one and he tilts his head to the side in question.

“Is what true?”

Dean looks a little ashamed, rubbing at the back of his neck and looking towards his room. “I, uh, heard you and Sam talking,” he admits. “Through my window.” 

“Oh,” Castiel replies, unbothered. “Then yes.” There’s another beat of suspended silence and then Dean’s rushing forward, taking the steps down two at a time, so fast that he trips a little and goes sprawling, slamming into Castiel’s chest and knocking both of their bodies hard against the wall. “Oof,” Castiel gasps as the air is punched from his already sore lungs by Dean’s chest, but his arms clutch reflexively at Dean’s back, squeezing tight as Dean’s own wrap desperately around his shoulders. They sway there, just holding and grabbing onto each other for several minutes, both of them trembling for very different reasons.

Dean pulls back suddenly, grabbing Castiel’s face in both of his hands and shaking him slightly. “Don’t you _ ever _ do that to me again,” he warns. His eyes are red and full of tears, and it _ hurts _ to look into them knowing he did that, _ he _put that pain there. Castiel shakes his head.

“I won’t,” he replies, voice thick. “I promise Dean, no more. I’m ready now, I swear to you.” 

Dean holds on even tighter, the shoulder of Castiel’s dirty hospital gown growing damp with his tears. They stand there for what feels like a very long time, long enough that the Winchesters’ front door opens and voices can be heard downstairs. The two of them manage to disengage and get their faces somewhat under control by the time Sam and Gabriel appear at the bottom of the steps, though there’s certainly no hiding that they’ve both been crying. 

“How are you here?” Castiel asks his brother, concern written all over his face.

Gabe just raised his eyebrows. “I’m _allowed_ to be here. You’d know that if you’d been around at all lately. Samshine here had the boys in blue set my perimeter to include his house since he’s my lawyer and all.” Gabriel wiggles his eyebrows. “Lucky me.” 

A strange look crosses Sam’s face but disappears just as quickly, before Castiel can say anything about it. “I cleared the hospital visit too,” Sam adds. 

“Enough about me,” Gabriel interjects. “So… are we really doing this, Cassie?” Castiel nods and looks between Sam and Gabe, struggling not to feel disappointed when he takes in his brother’s doubtful expression and tone. He _ wants _to get defensive and pissy about it, but he knows he’s earned every ounce of this skepticism. He can only count his blessings that Dean didn’t give him a harder time too, he’s not sure he could take it from both of them. But as if he can read his mind, Dean just inches closer from where he’s pulled away, sliding his hand into Castiel’s and giving it a firm squeeze of encouragement. 

Castiel licks his lips and looks between Gabe and the Winchesters. “I think we should tie me up,” he says, with a hell of a lot more confidence than he feels.

***


	12. The Light

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Track:[Midnight Sun by Phillip Phillips](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wnhlCgMzzBk)
> 
> Spoiler Chapter Warnings at the end :)

_When you see yourself_  
_As the darkest shadow,_  
_I see you as the light_

“Run through the plan again,” Castiel demands through clenched teeth, his wrists and ankles bound and tethered to the four corners of Dean’s bed. They’d been lucky—Benny had come by as soon as Dean had texted him the need, dropping off all kinds of supplies and well-wishes, including two brand-new pairs of soft medical restraints. 

Castiel is already regretting that request. He tugs restlessly at the bindings securing his arms and grimaces. He can’t even scratch his fucking nose. He sighs and looks up at Dean who’s perched on the bed next to him, a gentle hand resting reassuringly on his thigh. 

Dean ignores his request regarding the plan and thumbs the soft foam encircling Cas’ right wrist. His brow is furrowed with unhidden concern. “You sure about these, Cas? They make me fuckin’ nervous.” 

“No, Dean,” Castiel replies, more irritated and sharp than he intends. “I’m not _ sure _about any of this, but I don’t want to be controlled by addiction anymore and I won’t subject myself to a rehab, they’re barbaric. Besides, you’re going to stay with me, right?” 

“Of course,” Dean replies with a nod.

“And there’s a quick-release buckle on this side.” Castiel yanks his right wrist to illustrate his point. “Which you’ll hit if I need to vomit.”

“Yea, I guess,” Dean replies doubtfully, still looking incredibly uncertain. “Technically there are quick releases on all of them.” He falls silent, looking down at Castiel’s wrist as he strokes the sensitive skin just below the restraint with his thumb. 

“I don’t want to hurt you,” Castiel says softly. “I _ injured _ you the last time we tried this. I’m not myself when I’m like that and I don’t want to do anything I’ll regret later.” He pauses and then amends, “Anything _ else.” _

Dean takes a deep breath and lets it out, offering Castiel a smile. “Alright then. Let’s get an IV and some meds in you.”

Sam shifts awkwardly at the foot of the bed before motioning between himself and Gabriel. “Dean, you need us for anything more right now? If not, we’re gonna get out of your hair. We’ll just… hang out downstairs, make Cas some tea, and watch TV. That way if you need help you can just call out and we’ll come running.” 

“Just the valium you got from Kali,” Dean tells Gabe, who promptly produces it from his pocket. 

“Knock yourself out, kiddo,” he says with a wink and Sam makes a face before elbowing him. Castiel narrows his eyes at them both; the discomfort in his body is really ratcheting up now, but not enough to keep him from noticing that something is strange between his and Dean’s brothers. He’ll file that away for another day, though. Right now, he honestly couldn’t care less. 

Dean places the bottle of street-sourced valium on the dresser alongside the other aids they’ve compiled, looking them over as Sam grabs Gabe’s arm and hustles him out of the room. Gabe turns back at the doorway and gives Castiel one last look, which he returns with appreciation. “Hang in there, little bro,” he says quietly with the most sincere tone Castiel’s heard him use in years.

And then they’re both gone, and he and Dean are alone again. 

“Humor me, Dean,” Castiel entreats. “One more time.”

Dean nods without turning around and starts reading off labels. “Valium every six hours. Imodium now, and again if you need it. Multivitamin and potassium supplement now and daily. Zofran now and every eight hours. Saline to start in the IV if you can’t keep anything down by mouth.”

“If?” Castiel remarks with a little snort. “That’s very optimistic.” 

“That’s it for the medications as of right now,” Dean continues. “Except weed, we can do that too, whenever you want. And if you’re feeling okay about me taking off those restraints, we can do hot baths to help with the cramps.” He makes his way back to Castiel’s side, an assortment of pills and IV supplies in hand. “Bottoms up,” he says, tipping the colorful pile into Cas’ mouth and holding his head up so that he can sip some water to choke them down. When that’s done, he spreads the remaining materials out on the bedside table, selecting the tourniquet and tying it around Cas’ bicep before searching for a vein. 

Castiel’s quiet while he does so, ignoring the muscle-memory-feeling the tourniquet provokes that insists it’s time to get high. He focuses on breathing in and out slowly, fixing his eyes on a dark spot on Dean’s ceiling until the sensation passes. He doesn’t even notice when Dean slides the needle into a vein on the back of his hand, smoothly threading the catheter over before retracting the needle and tossing it aside. He attaches a saline lock and secures it to Cas’ hand with tape and gauze, wrapping it securely in case he thrashes around later. All things they’ve discussed, not that it makes witnessing the actual process any easier. 

Dean draws up the Zofran and pushes it slowly through the IV. Castiel half-expects the normal rush of heat and dissociation, but obviously, it never comes. All he feels is cool fluid and the vague taste of salt in his mouth as Dean flushes the lock with saline. 

_ That’s it, _he realizes. They’re ready. They’ve done everything they can to make both Castiel and Dean safe and reasonably comfortable, now all they can do is wait… and try to make it through whatever comes without any new scars. 

Castiel’s never been so afraid in his whole miserable life.

Still without speaking, Dean clears away the trash and positions a bucket at the side of the bed; ready in case Castiel needs to vomit unexpectedly, which he _ knows _he will. He brings a glass of juice to the bedside table as well, coaxing Cas to drink a few sips first, before doing something Castiel definitely did not anticipate.

He lays down at his side. Dean’s careful, tentative as he pulls Cas’ favorite fleece blanket up over both of them to guard against the chill of the room, slow and deliberate like he thinks Castiel might tense and turn him away. He curves himself gently along the side of Castiel’s body, ensuring that his head ends up on a pillow positioned above the crook of Cas’ spread arm, so as not to cut off circulation to the arm itself. And then… he touches. Starting with Castiel’s face, he lets his fingertips run down the sides of Cas’ jaw, pushes the flat of his hand around the back of his neck, scrapes his nails carefully down Castiel’s chest and flank. He kneads the muscles in his bicep, cards fingers through his hair, squeezes his thigh. Still silent, just _ soothing _and handling him kindly, over and over, touching everywhere he’s able to reach.

Thanks to that (and the Valium), Castiel’s able to relax, at least somewhat. He tips his head down and noses in Dean’s hair, breathing him in and fighting hard to remember who he is and what he wants as his body riots against him. 

The medication does its part to temper some of the symptoms, and after an hour or so of sweating and yanking on his restraints in discomfort, Castiel finally feels fairly confident that he’s not going to lose control and either hurt Dean or give in to the voices in the back of his mind telling him to flee. As cliche as it sounds, apparently mindset really does make a difference (though he’s sure the muscle relaxants aren’t hurting either), and Castiel is thankful for that. Dean’s relocated at some point, from his side down to the lower end of the bed where he’s released the lower restraints and has Cas’ legs in his lap, massaging his calves like it’s the most important job in the universe. 

“Dean,” he says softly, clearing his throat when his voice cracks. “I think… would it be alright if you untie me now?” 

Dean actually snorts before looking up from Cas’ legs with a smile on his face. “The worst BDSM party ever wasn’t my idea, Cas,” he reminds him. “You’re in control here.” 

Understanding that Dean probably wasn’t being philosophical, Castiel still thinks there’s a certain amount of poetry to his words and takes that into account as he nods slowly. “I realize that now,” he says. Dean shuffles up the bed on his knees to free Cas’ arms, folding them in to his chest as he does. Castiel groans and sits up, pulling his sore muscles this way and that, carefully ignoring Dean’s assessing stare.

“Doesn’t seem quite so awful this time,” he offers, sliding a hand to the middle of Castiel’s back and leaving it there, a quiet, unassuming bit of reassurance. Castiel huffs and scrubs hands over his face, wiping away cool sweat as he does.

“A very relative statement,” he allows. After a beat, he adds honestly, “It’s very unpleasant… but it does feel tolerable. Thanks to you.” Castiel raises his eyes to Dean’s where he’s still kneeling beside him and stretches up to lock their lips together. He only means to offer a passing display of affection, but Dean sighs at the contact and presses down into him, his eyes slipping closed and his hand coming up to cup Castiel’s jaw. It’s nothing deep or even particularly sexual—Castiel doesn’t think he could get it up if he wanted to—but it does feel good, and he’s _ all _ about feeling anything _ good _right now. 

So when Dean nudges him down on his back and splays out half draped over Cas’ body, running a hand through his hair and drawing out their kisses slow and sweet, Castiel doesn’t mind in the least. He grips Dean’s shoulder blades and slides hands down his back, relishing the feeling of being close to him, of being taken care of, of being _ loved. _ Dean’s teeth nip gently at his lower lip, his tongue darting out to swipe teasingly at the same spot in their wake. Castiel pulls his arms in to push them up and thread them around Dean’s neck, tugging him down even tighter. He drops a hand to his cheek and kisses back fiercely, Dean’s breath hot as he pants in between the moments where they’re locked together. Things actually _ are _starting to heat up rapidly between them, their touches escalating more quickly than Castiel would have thought, at least until a knock and the sound of the door opening shatter the illusion that this is just another day.

“Knock knock, we—oh, Jesus Christ, Cassie,” Gabriel complains. “This is definitely not the kind of Nurse Dean action we were imagining downstairs. Lesson learned, always pause after the knock.” 

Dean reluctantly slides off of Castiel, thumbing a little wetness from the side of his mouth in a gesture that makes Cas want to tell Gabriel to hit the fucking road and never come back. But, moment broken and cuddle-induced oxytocin depleting, his withdrawal symptoms come flooding back full force. Castiel grimaces and pushes back up to sitting, his arms and legs increasingly twitchy and sore. Sam peeks his head in from around the corner, only venturing further when he determines that no one is indecent.

“Cas is doing awesome,” Dean announces proudly, clapping him on the shoulder like he’s eight and just brought home a “Student of the Month” award. Castiel glares but Sam smiles and Gabriel looks slightly less sure of his impending failure. 

“Well, you _ look _fuckin’ terrible,” Gabe says, his eyes flicking over to Sam as he balances a tray on the bedside table. Castiel notes a teapot with a matching cup and saucer, a plate of toast and a banana. He ignores Gabe and reaches for Sam’s arm, giving it a squeeze.

“Thank you, Sam,” he says sincerely. “This is very thoughtful. You’ve all been… very thoughtful.” 

“You’re killing it, Cas,” Dean encourages before kissing his neck as he leans across to grab a slice of toast, cramming the entire thing into his mouth at once. 

“That was for _ Cas, _” Sam chastises, a disgusted look on his face, but Dean just shrugs.

“That’s alright, Sam,” Castiel replies with a small smile. “I’m not sure that I could stomach anything right at the moment anyway.”

“See?” Dean replies with his mouth full, getting an eye roll and a bitch face in return.

“If you’re sure,” Sam says, a little nervous. “I read that potassium can help with the muscle discomfort.”

Castiel nods. “Actually, I was thinking of seeing about a hot bath, I think that would be most helpful right now.” 

“We’ll get out of your hair, then,” Gabriel steps in, grabbing Sam’s arm and tugging him towards the door. “And you know, we’ll leave you to it from here on out, unless you decide to go all _ Girl, Interrupted. _Yell loudly if Cassie takes a shot at your nuts again, Dean, otherwise just shoot one of us a text. C’mon Samshine, you promised we’d finished the entire Harry Potter series today.” 

The door closes behind them just as Cas’ stomach lurches in warning. He stumbles as he jumps off the bed but makes it to the toilet in time. Having absolutely nothing in his stomach, the vomiting amounts to mostly dry heaving and some acidic bile. The dry heaves last for several minutes, but the Zofran must be doing _ something _because it ends up being only one bout and done. He still feels queasy, but his stomach stops attempting to revolt, and he’s able to slump back against the bathroom wall to catch his breath.

Dean’s instantly at his side, dropping a cool washcloth to his forehead and offering a cup of tea, which Castiel manages to take a couple small sips from. When he’s ready, Dean hauls him to his feet and sets him up with a brand new toothbrush at the sink while he busies himself filling the tub with hot water. 

Castiel feels _ exhausted. _Whereas the last time the pure intensity and severity of his symptoms were impossible to pull focus from, this time he mostly just feels uncomfortable, nauseous, and tired. The most frustrating part of feeling that way is knowing that his discomfort will keep him from sleeping, or even really lying still in bed. With a resigned sigh and drooping eyelids, he rinses out his mouth and makes his way over to Dean, who’s bent over the tub, adding some oils and bath salts as he checks the temperature.

“Don’t you ever tell Sam I keep all this girly bath shit in here,” Dean warns as Castiel presses his face into his back, wrapping arms around his middle and making a noise of complaint when Dean tries to straighten up. “C’mon sweetheart,” he urges, managing to turn around and shove the door closed before methodically setting about stripping his own borrowed t-shirt and sweatpants off of Castiel’s body. 

It’s a little strange, in Cas’ opinion, to have Dean taking off his clothes almost clinically, but it’s also sort of nice, comforting even. Somewhere between having that done and lowering himself into lemon-scented water so hot it steams into the air, Castiel realizes that Dean still has all of his own clothes on. The bathtub is oversized, plenty of room for Dean to come in, and Castiel wants him to. The touching and affection from Dean is one of the only things keeping him sane at this point, and he needs it. He reaches out with a wet hand to yank at Dean’s t-shirt, but he just pulls away with a small smile and gets down on his knees next to the tub, grabbing a washcloth and squeezing a sizable blob of body wash onto it. 

“You trust me?” He asks, not looking up from his lathering.

“Of course, Dean,” Castiel replies immediately. “I love you.” Dean doesn’t reply but flashes him a brilliant smile that Cas can’t help mirroring back. 

Dean starts with the arm closest to him, taking his hand and wrapping it up in the hot, soapy washcloth before massaging his fingers, his palm, his wrist. From there he travels up the to his forearm, then his bicep, then his shoulder, giving them all the same treatment. He moves on to the other arm, repeats his motions, then both of his legs starting with his toes and the soles of his feet, all the way up to his thighs. Castiel shivers a little despite the heat when Dean reaches his groin, but all he gets is a sly smile and a perfunctory wash down there, no massage. 

“Tease,” he whispers, eyes almost closed, Dean’s hands and the relaxing warmth of the water bleeding the tension and nasty twitching away from his limbs. It’s _so_ peaceful and unexpected, the pleasant smell and the sound of the water sloshing around Dean’s hands, that somehow, against all odds, he falls asleep. 

***

Castiel wishes he could say that the rest of the night went just as smoothly after he woke up, but that would be a lie. When he does wake, the water is cooling as it drains and Dean is sitting on the side of the tub holding a fluffy bath towel. “Been watchin’ over you,” he admits. “Couldn’t make myself wake you up, you looked so damn peaceful for once. You’ve been in there for almost an hour.” Castiel opens his mouth to reply, and promptly vomits all over Dean’s jeans, and himself. 

“So sorry,” he gasps in between heaves, scrambling onto all fours in the tub, his nausea worsening as he’s forced to watch and smell the vomit swirl down the drain in a putrid, mocking bright yellow pattern. 

“Don’t apologize,” he hears Dean says, and then the shower’s turning on, cold at first on his back before swiftly turning warm. The heaving subsides and Castiel does his best to claw his way to standing, helped along by Dean’s strong arms coming underneath his own.

“Don’t, you’ll—the vomit, it’s everywhere,” Castiel insists shamefully, doing his best to push Dean away. But Dean resists, refusing to be moved and instead coaxing Castiel in close and hugging him tight to his naked body.

“Stop,” he murmurs. “I’m a paramedic, a little vomit doesn’t bother me, least of all yours. Anyway, we’re in a shower. We’ll get clean, and then we’ll get you bundled up in bed, alright?” Castiel nods miserably, and Dean retrieves the washcloth intent on repeating his earlier motions, though this time it’s much faster and inclusive of his own body. When they’re once again clean and dry and Cas is, as promised, burritoed up in bed, Dean runs a hand over his head before heading for the door.

“Be right back, I promise,” he says. Vaguely, Castiel can hear him calling softly over the railing, followed by sounds of what he presumes are Gabe and Sam’s footsteps and low voices, but honestly, it’s all starting to blur together. He’s still exhausted, the nap in the tub possibly only making things worse in that way, but the crawling sensation in his legs is so much worse out of the tub and away from Dean’s hands that he can hardly take it. His head is starting to pound and he’s already sweating cold bullets, unsure if he wants to stay wrapped up like he is or flop around on top of the sheets in direct line of the air conditioner. The voices outside the room carry, but none of them make sense. Time goes by and the light outside the window changes. It brightens, darkens, Dean’s hands are all over his body and then they’re gone. Different people prop him upright, offer him fluids, hold a bucket under his face when he can’t keep those down. Everything changes and nothing does from one endless, agonizing moment to the next. 

At one point, his arm starts to feel cold but _ on the inside _and on some level Castiel realizes it’s because fluid is flowing into it continuously. The room stays dim and he’s never alone, though the figures that blur in front of his eyes shift and change from time to time. He can always recognize Dean’s hands, but that’s about all. The light seeping through between the drawn curtains shifts and changes over and over, and Castiel sleeps and doesn’t sleep, drinks and throws up, craves touch and shoves hands away. At some point he recognizes being rolled over, the sheets balled up and shoved underneath him before he’s rolled again in the other direction, somehow landing on fresh ones. Instead of questioning it, he shivers and burrows his face into the freshly changed pillow, letting the still-prickly haze of sleep take him again, fighting the aches and twinges of his body all the way down.

The next time Castiel wakes, he feels different. After blinking a few times, his sight clears and the room comes into focus. Dean’s sitting facing him in a chair next to the bed, his feet propped up on the side and his forehead wrinkled as he stares down at the pile of papers in his hands. Castiel stirs and tries to push his way to sitting but finds himself somewhat weak, his arms shaking when he tries to put weight on them, sending him flopping back down to the mattress. 

Dean appears above him, smiling with his whole face. “Well hey there, Sleeping Beauty. Welcome back to the land of the living.” He slides a hand under Castiel’s shoulders and guides him upright, shoving a pillow behind his back for support before rounding the bed and climbing up to sit next to him. Dean offers him a glass of orange juice from the bedside table and it’s only in taking a drink that Castiel truly realizes how _ parched _he is. His throat feels tight and angry as the first sip goes down like knives, but the next two are a little better. 

“Thank you,” Castiel tells him, voice gritty and lower than even its usual baritone. “How long?” 

“Uh… four days,” Dean admits. “You seemed a little better yesterday, but still pretty out of it, so I cut the valium off last night. Right choice?” 

“I believe so… I wouldn’t say that I feel great, but it’s a world of difference in the right direction.” Dean leans forward and knocks their foreheads together before getting up from the bed. 

“Really fuckin’ good to have you back, Cas,” he says, turning away to swipe at his face, though he can’t hide that his voice shakes a little. “S’been rough around here. I missed you. Let me just…” He opens the door and leans his head over the railing. “Rachel? Cas is up. Can you grab some food?” 

Castiel screws up his face and gathers the covers around his naked belly and pajama-pants-clad hips (_ definitely not the ones he remembers putting on) _ as Dean re-enters the room. “Rachel is here? She shouldn’t see me like this.” Dean rolls his eyes and gives him a patronizing look.

“She’s eighteen, Cas, and she cares about you. She made you chicken soup from scratch. From what I hear, it took three attempts and she almost burned down your house doing it, but it’s not bad.” Dean shrugs. “Be nice to her, you missed her graduation, you know.” 

Castiel’s mouth drops open slightly as he realizes Dean is right—her ceremony had been scheduled for a few days after Gabriel had been arrested and he’d _ completely _ forgotten, busy trying to make money and getting high and generally being wrapped up in himself. _ Oh God, _ he thinks in disgust, he really _ has _turned into Chuck. As if reading his mind, Dean flicks his ear before squeezing his shoulder in support. “Don’t fall down a hole beating yourself up about it. You’re doing the work right now, you’ll make it up to her. Once you’re on your feet again we’ll throw her a killer party, yea?”

Hanging his head in shame, Castiel manages a short nod. Of course, it’s right then that Rachel enters the room, a tray of food in her hands. Castiel can barely meet her eyes, but Rachel’s not having any of that. She sets the tray down on his lap and kneels next to the bed and forces him to look at her. 

“Stop feeling bad for yourself,” she demands, eyebrows raised. 

“I’m not,” Castiel defends, indignant. “I’m feeling guilty for neglecting you and your siblings. It’s not the same thing. I wasn’t there for you, I missed your graduation.”

Rachel snorts. “Only losers go to graduation, Cas. Everybody cool skipped and got high under the bleachers… Lip’s dad bought us beer, it was great. No worries.” 

Castiel’s eyes narrow. “I would have liked to see you walk across that stage. I’m proud of you, Rachel.” 

“Whatever,” Rachel replies. “Cas, you’ve been taking care of us all for twelve years. You fucked up, so what? Who hasn’t? No one blames you, no one even cares, we just want the real Cas back. And not for nothing, I guarantee you’ve scared everyone in that house away from even thinking of trying that shit.” Castiel manages a small smile and Rachel squeezes his hand. “I gotta get back… the laundry situation over there is starting to become critical. Pretty soon the pile of Jimmy’s socks next to his bed is gonna grow hair and we’ll have to name it. I’ll see you soon?” 

“Count on it,” Castiel replies with a nod, watching her walk out the door and disappear down the stairs. 

“See?” Dean says pointedly. “Told you.” 

Castiel just sighs and eats his soup.

***

Things aren’t perfect, but they do keep getting better slowly and surely. Castiel stays at Dean’s for another couple of nights before returning home, but when he does, _ home _ feels just a little too empty without him. Not that Dean is even home to _ be _missed, he’s back to work, though that hasn’t stopped him from texting every fifteen minutes just in case Castiel suddenly needs something. The kids are happy though, and after a huge dinner that included five boxes of mac and cheese and a whole economy package of hotdogs, they all sprawl all over him in the living room to watch Dean’s illegal cable hookup until they pass out. Gabriel gets the night off for once, skipping out to go “keep Sam company,” whatever that means. For his part, Castiel’s glad he pissed before sitting down, since he couldn’t get up if he tried, what with Rachel on one shoulder, Anna’s head in his lap and Hannah sprawled on top of her. Both of the boys are on the floor at his feet and even Manny has an arm curled around an ankle possessively. It’s Heaven in its own way, and if Dean were here it’d be nothing shy of perfect. 

Not that _ he’s _perfect, not yet. His muscles still feel jumpy and the anxiety and restlessness still crop up frequently alongside the cravings, but it’s nothing he can’t fight. The tide has shifted from “mostly physical” to “mostly mental,” and that Castiel can deal with. 

The other thing he’s pleased to find is that the kids have been doing a stellar job of stocking the squirrel fund. With all of their contributions and the cash he’d stashed that Gabe had managed to grab before he could blow it on drugs, they’re already looking to be in good shape for the winter. Good thing too, because not only is he losing his under the table gig, Lowe’s fired him for no-call-no-showing three shifts in a row. That phone call had been more surprising than it probably should have been, considering, and Castiel’s actually a little sad about it. He enjoyed the job, and it was decent money. He considers going to his manager and groveling, maybe even telling the truth and hoping for pity or mercy or something, but on the other hand, perhaps this is a sign… maybe he should accept the clean break, go for broke, and try to make a fresh start.

Sam and Dean both seem like they truly _ want _to help… and he did promise to let them. Castiel just doesn’t know how to go about admitting that he might need it.

Part of that problem is solved on a mundane Tuesday afternoon, completely out of the blue. The kids are all off scamming or working or hanging out with friends and Gabriel is off _ “helping” _Sam, something he seems to be doing more and more frequently, sometimes for the entire night, and Dean is at work while Castiel is left tidying up the house in a way that’s so boring and lame, it feels wonderful. He’s clearing piles of cups and used dishes out from the boys’ room when suddenly, there’s a knock at the front door. 

Balancing the dishes on top of a stack of clothes in the laundry basket he’s carrying, Castiel makes his way downstairs and answers it. It’s a middle-aged man in a suit, balding, nothing particularly special or interesting about him at all. 

“Can I help you?” Castiel asks, not bothering to put the laundry basket down.

“Is this the current residence of one Chuck Shurley?” Balding guy seems nice enough, but Castiel knows perfectly well that appearances can be deceiving, and his first thought is to wonder who Chuck pissed off or who he owes money to now. Like hell if he’s going to let Chuck’s problems become his own—again. Least this guy isn’t brandishing a bat, and he doesn’t look like the type that carries. 

He settles on a suspicious, “Who’s asking?” His eyes narrow with one foot at the corner of the door, ready to kick it shut in the guy’s face if he tries to force his way in. But the man just smiles pleasantly and reaches inside his suit jacket to pull out an envelope.

“I work for a company that’s been attempting to track Mr. Shurley down for a very long time. We recently received word that he might be living here. He’s owed quite a bit of money, and I’d be much obliged if you could point me in his direction.”

At that, Castiel sticks his head out the door and looks around. “Is this a trick? Am I on some sort of reality show, a celebrity is going to jump out and tell me I’m being ‘pinked’, right?” 

The man looks taken aback, blinking at Cas’ uses of air quotes and touching his chest in affront. “I believe you mean ‘Punk’d,’ but no, not at all. Fifteen years ago Mr. Shurley wrote a series of books and they were published. He’s owed the royalties, but no one has been able to _ find _him to give it to him. May I ask what relation you are to Mr. Shurley?”

“Uhm… I’m his son,” Castiel replies, and the man nods.

“So does he live here?”

“Well,_ live _ might be a strong word, _ pass out _ is far more accurate but—”

“Excellent,” the man replies smoothly, cutting him off and producing a piece of paper and pen. “Considering the extended length of time we’ve been attempting to track Mr. Shurley’s whereabouts, his contract states we can leave his check with a next of kin. If you’ll just sign here that you’ve received it.” Blinking, Castiel signs and the man promptly hands over the envelope and a card. “My number,” he says, “If Mr. Shurley has any questions.” And then he turns on his heel and walks away, leaving Castiel confused and somewhat concerned he’s just accidentally signed his soul away.

But what’s done is done, and he closes the door, moving back into the living room and dropping the laundry on the couch. He plops down next to it and tears open the envelope to look at the check.

“Holy shit,” he tells the empty room.

***

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Semi-graphic descriptions of Castiel's withdrawal/detox


	13. Live On

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Track:[Midnight Sun by Phillip Phillips](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wnhlCgMzzBk)
> 
> [Shots by LMFAO](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XNtTEibFvlQ) is the song the kids put on at the party. :)

_Oh, my friend,_  
_look how time has changed the cracks in our skin._  
_Oh, my friend,_  
_Let go of the fear that's inside your head._  
_So stay strong, live on,_  
_And chase the midnight sun._

“I’m just saying,” Dean continues, ripping off strips from the roll of tape in his hands and using them to secure the “_ Congratulations Graduate!” _ letter banner that’s draped halfway up the wall on the left side of the living room. “It’s a _ lot _of money. Enough that both you and Gabe could change your whole lives.” 

“I know that, Dean,” Castiel replies patiently from his spot on the floor where he’s coloring in a poster that says “Congratulations, Rachel” on one side and “Glad You’re not in Jail Gabe,” on the other. He’s planning on hanging it from the top of the doorway that leads from the living room into the kitchen, unless, of course, they get bad news from Sam before the party can start. 

Dean shakes his head as he hops down from the chair he’s been perched precariously on and makes his way to the snack table, stealing a few carrots and shoving them in his mouth. In true Dean fashion, that doesn’t stop him from talking, but Castiel can’t complain, Dean’s been faithfully busting his ass helping cook and set up for Rachel’s party all day. _ Rachel and Gabe’s party, _ he mentally corrects himself. _ Think positive. _“I just don’t get why you aren’t more excited. This is a big deal! And this hookup with Benny at the culinary school? This could be everything you’ve ever wanted, dropped right in your lap.” 

Frustrated, Castiel tosses the marker to the floor and tilts his head back to stare at the ceiling, counting to ten before he says something he knows he’ll regret. “I understand that you’re just trying to help here, Dean, but I _ know _all of this already. I’m just not sure…” He presses his lips together and resumes coloring without finishing his sentence. 

But Dean doesn’t let him off the hook that easily, and Castiel has no idea why he thought he would. He comes over and stoops down, plucking the marker from his fingers and tossing it before lowering himself into Castiel’s lap, straddling his hips and draping arms around his neck. Despite himself, Castiel struggles to bite back a smile. 

“Hello, Dean,” he says.

“Heya, Cas,” Dean replies, a little breathy, his expression clearly revealing that he’s up to something. “Lookin’ real sexy with all that marker on your hands,” he says with a grin, and Castiel can’t help but let out a laugh. 

“Fuck you,” he replies, a wide smile crossing his face as he laces his fingers together behind Dean’s back. Dean makes a show of checking his watch, and Castiel raises his eyebrows.

“Not sure we have quite enough time for that. But I bet I could suck you off before Rach and Hannah make it back from the store.”

“_Dean,” _ Castiel hisses. “That could be any minute! Not to mention Anna and the boys should be back from work shortly as well, and Gabe…” He trails off, grabbing Dean’s wrist to look at the watch for himself. “There’s no way his court date hasn’t wrapped yet. It’s four-thirty! I should have gone,” he laments, letting go of Dean’s waist and falling back to lay on the floor. “I _ knew _I should have gone.” 

“Baby, you’re still a master at beating yourself up. No one does it as well as you do,” Dean says lightly, and Castiel realizes his mistake in changing their position when he feels Dean’s fingers pop the button on his jeans and tug the zipper down. 

“No, Dean, the _ time_,” he protests, but it’s half-hearted at best and Dean knows it, ignoring him in favor of working the band of his jeans down over his hips. Castiel sighs, not unhappily, as Dean mouths over the fabric of his briefs, breathing hot puffs of air directly over his cock. It twitches in response, and as Dean helps his underwear follow in the path of his jeans, Castiel stops fighting it and gives himself over to Dean’s hands and mouth. He can feel the smile on Dean’s face as he nuzzles against his soft cock and it responds, gasping and arching his back as wet heat swallows him down completely. _ Shit. _ He almost doesn’t want to get hard, as having his entire cock shoved inside Dean’s mouth is _ extremely _ pleasant_. _

Castiel’s hands fly outward, groping at the hard floor as Dean sucks, accidentally grabbing someone’s rogue shoe in an attempt to find something to hold onto. He glances at it quickly before winging it across the room in disgust. Dean laughs a little, the sound muffled around the intrusion in his mouth as he watches, big green eyes dancing with amusement. He squeezes Cas’ balls gently, rolling them in the palm of one hand while he reaches up with the other, retrieving Cas’ hands to place them on his head one at a time. “Mmph,” he says, dipping forward to take as much of Cas’ now-hard cock as he can, encouraging Castiel to use his hair for leverage, to take whatever he needs. Dean’s eyes close when he complies, zoning out and letting his jaw go slack while Castiel moves his hips gently, one hand cupped around Dean’s face, enjoying the way he can feel himself thrusting through the outside of his cheek. 

His orgasm sneaks up on him quickly, distant one minute and washing over him the next, flooding his body with heat and feel-good chemicals, the _ healthy _ kind this time. As his toes curl and his eyes squeeze shut, Castiel spills down Dean’s throat, his fingers twisted tight in his hair. He’s not even sure who’s groaning, him or Dean, but whoever it is they certainly sound pleased. Panting and buzzy as he comes down, Castiel takes a moment to just enjoy how good it feels to be with Dean, to _ feel good _with Dean, without either the aid or barrier of mind-altering substances. No alcohol, no weed, no hard drugs, just them, just Dean’s mouth and his skin and the feel of his stubble as it scrapes gently across the inside of Cas’ thigh. He grips Dean’s shoulder weakly and pulls, asking him to come up, and of course, Dean does, draping himself over Cas’ body and pressing their mouths together firmly. 

Castiel kisses back, pushes his hands over Dean’s shoulders and down his back, up again and then down over his chest. Dean sighs with contentment, settling at Castiel’s side the way he’s come to prefer. Cas’ hand sneaks down to his groin, intent on reciprocating, surprised enough to break their kiss when he finds a wet spot there.

“Seriously?” He asks, and Dean shrugs, flushing a little. 

“Blowing you turns me on. Don’t judge me,” he says, a little defensively, and Castiel makes a throaty noise, pushing him over so that he can straddle his hips and pin his arms over his head to the floor. 

“_Never,” _he growls, reaching down between his legs to palm at the wet spot again, making Dean flinch a little at the overstimulation of denim on a spent cock. 

“Easy,” he murmurs.

“Apologies.” Castiel leans down to kiss him again and Dean’s eyes close immediately, another happy noise escaping his mouth when their lips part but they’re still pressed close together. “I love when that happens,” Castiel admits, staring into Dean’s eyes from inches away. The flush creeps back into his cheeks and Castiel grabs his chin. “Don’t,” he insists. “The things you’ve seen me do, the things you’ve _ done _ for me? You have nothing to hide, nothing to be embarrassed for, _ ever. _Everything you are is perfect to me, Dean.” 

Dean’s lips part and the look in his eyes suggests that he has something to say, something _ important, _but the front door bangs open and Castiel has to pull back, shoving his soft cock swiftly back inside his underwear and pants before anyone can see.

“You have a _ room,” _Rachel’s voice declares, full of snark as she enters the house, but she’s smiling and winking when Castiel turns around to glare. 

“Point,” Castiel replies. Hannah follows close behind her, arms laden down with bags of ice while Rachel’s are clutched around two cases of beer. “I see you had no issues with the alcohol.”

Rachel looks at him strangely. “Why would Ellen give us an issue? She’s been selling me beer since I was fourteen.” 

Castiel taps his forehead and shakes his head. “Silly me.” He looks up to see Dean standing in the kitchen doorway with a pillow over his crotch, and he can’t help but smirk. 

“I’ll just...” 

“Yes,” Castiel agrees, chuckling as Dean tosses the pillow at his face and darts for the back stairway, presumably to go and pilfer some clean jeans from Cas’ room. 

“Any word from Gabe?” Hannah asks as she pours most of the ice into the buckets Cas left out for that exact purpose. Rachel looks over at him as she pops the tops off of three beers and hands them out before setting to work burying the rest inside the ice. 

Castiel shakes his head. “No,” he replies, furrowing his brow and digging his phone out of his pocket. _ No new messages. _“It’s after five, they really should be done by now.” None of them need to say anything to that, the implications are clear. Sam probably hasn’t texted because he doesn’t want to give the bad news over the phone. And Gabe probably hasn’t texted because as far as Castiel knows, they don’t allow cell phones in prison. The mood is somber as Dean bounces back down the stairs, accepting a beer from Rachel as he rounds the snack table and grabs Cas’ sign, moving to hang it up above the kitchen door.

“Perhaps we should hang it somewhere the other side can’t be seen,” Castiel suggests. But before Dean can reply, the front door opens again and the room is filled with chattering excitement. Anna and the twins pile through the inner doorway, all smiles, Manny and Jimmy standing close together with their hands behind their backs. Castiel turns his attention to them and waits expectantly.

“Surprise!” The three of them yell together, the twins dragging a square item between their bodies and presenting it to Rachel excitedly. It’s a very _ nice, _expensive-looking wood frame, and inside it Rachel’s high school diploma is displayed beautifully. 

“That’s really fucking cool,” she says with a big smile plastered on her face. “Thanks, you guys.” She hugs each of them in turn and strikes up a conversation with Jimmy as Anna grabs a beer and makes her way over to Castiel.

“Where did you get it?” He asks her quietly. 

“Chuck stole it off of Becky’s wall,” Anna replies matter-of-factly, and Dean snorts into his beer behind him. Castiel raises his eyebrows, resulting in Anna throwing up her hands defensively. “He said if she notices he’ll tell her he sold it for dildo money, whatever that means.” She shrugs.

“His problem,” Castiel agrees, turning at the sound of banging to find Jimmy pounding a nail into the wall. He watches as the younger boy fits the diploma over it and steps back to admire his work. Castiel ruffles his hair and they all stare at it for a moment before he steps to the side of the room and flicks the ancient CD player perched on a table there to “on”. 

The silence in the room fills instantly with a song that in Cas’ opinion is far more _ noise _ than actual music, mostly a repeated yelling of the word “ _ shots _” over and over. It’s sung by some band with a name that’s an acronym and not a word at all, but the kids seem to like it. They scream and start jumping and dancing around like maniacs, grabbing each other’s hands and holding beer bottles in the air as they twist and twirl. Dean’s got his hands pressed firmly over his ears and a pouty look on his face, but Castiel smiles widely and manages to tug them away and into his own. Dean shakes his head vigorously when Castiel tries to get him to dance, but relents when Cas’ arms go around his neck, swaying them slowly back and forth in spite of the fast beat. With what’s obviously a pretend-grumpy frown, Dean lets himself be led, relaxing into Castiel’s arms and whispering nonsense in his ear that makes him throw his head back and laugh. 

It’s yet another thing that he wouldn’t have been able to enjoy just a few short weeks ago, wrapped up in the drive to get high, completely unable to feel normal emotions, to be content with just _ existing_. For that reason alone, Castiel couldn’t wipe the smile off of his face if he tried. Dean’s just leaning in for a kiss when the front door opens and in walks Sam with a grim look on his face. Castiel quickly pulls away from Dean to power off the music, his heart leaping into his throat, good mood forgotten.

“Sam?” He questions, knowing already that he doesn’t want to hear the answer.

Sam opens his mouth to speak and you could hear a pin drop; everyone in the room has one hundred percent of their attention trained solely on him. “About Gabriel…” he says, letting his words trail off ominously. Castiel lifts a hand to his mouth, finding that it’s gone completely dry.

“He’s here!” Gabriel yells, jumping out from the enclave between the front door and the living room. “And he’s a free man, thanks to Samshine here.” Just like that, the mood in the room flips as everyone erupts in screaming excitement, rushing Sam and Gabe in a wave of hugs that knock them both down to the floor. Castiel ends up pinned somewhere in the middle, somehow half on top of Sam and underneath Hannah and Manny, and it takes them all several minutes to untangle and get everyone standing again. Even still, Cas isn’t sure he’s ever seen so much happiness and relief pervading their humble home. 

_ "How? _” He finally gasps out, still reeling and smiling like a lunatic. Sam exchanges a glance with Gabriel and Castiel’s smile fades just a little. “What? What happened?”

“It’s nothing bad,” Sam reassures him quickly. “Unexpected, definitely, but also why the trial went on for so long. Our character witness was a little late showing up, but considering why he was testifying, that ended up working out in our favor.” Sam’s eyes dart to the enclave where Gabe had been hiding, and Castiel suddenly realizes that he wasn’t alone in there. 

Chuck is standing in the shadows, leaning against the inner door frame. He gives a small wave and clears his throat. “Don’t suppose anyone has a beer for the hero of this story?” 

“You know, _ hero _is a little dramatic, considering you just testified that you’re the reason I had to resort to selling drugs to begin with.” Castiel looks at Sam in confusion as Chuck waves Gabriel off.

“Yea… so get this, Chuck let us enter his criminal history into record, including his stint in that Mexican jail. I was able to have them mail their court documents,” Sam explains. 

“Wait, that was real?” Castiel has to admit, he had his doubts.

“Real as the fact that hot dogs are made from hooves and assholes,” Chuck scoffs, and Castiel glances at Dean.

“I’m not entirely sure that _ is _real,” he replies.

“Nonetheless, I _ am _the hero of this story,” Chuck blunders on, accepting a bottle from Anna. “Thanks to me, your brother gets to pick up trash instead of the soap!” He laughs loudly and unsurprisingly, so does Jimmy, at least until Castiel swats him. 

“Hey,” he protests, rubbing the back of his head. 

“Rape isn’t a punchline,” Castiel reprimands.

“Who said it was?!” Chuck wanders into the living room, knocking into Sam and sending him stumbling to the side. He flops down into his old recliner and pulls out a package of smushed cigarettes, lighting one up. “You know, I spent _ twelve years _ in that Mexican prison, I _ know _about what goes on in there. Don’t tell me what’s a joke.” He swigs most of his beer in one go before offering his cigarette to Manny. “You want?” 

Manny shakes his head in disgust, but Jimmy swoops in to accept, and in a weird way, it’s almost heartwarming to see Chuck interacting and giving a shit about his kids. Fucked up as it is, this is probably Chuck’s idea of involved parenting. 

Sam and Gabe are shucking their courtroom attire, tossing jackets over the bannister and pulling off button-downs to reveal t-shirts. “Ahh, that’s the stuff,” Gabriel sighs as he kicks off his shoes and hops over the back of the couch to sprawl out.

“Seriously though,” Sam says, “Chuck was… actually helpful.” He elbows Castiel. “He talked about what he put you guys through and how you didn’t have a whole lot of choice.” Castiel swallows his pride and turns to his absent father figure currently stubbing his cigarette out on the arm of his chair and sighs.

“Thank you, Chuck,” he says sincerely, and Chuck blinks back at him, clearly surprised. It’s silent for a few moments until Gabriel claps his hands and jumps to his feet again.

“Enough about this bullshit, where’s the fucking cake?!” 

***

Later that night, Castiel’s sitting out on the back porch, smoking his second bowl and waiting for Dean to return with more beer. He’s relaxed, comfortable, and happy_. _The stars are bright above his head, and he’s occupying himself by creating his own constellations when the screen door creaks open and Rachel wanders out. Music from the living room and the hum of voices drift out behind her, and Castiel smiles before patting the seat next to him. He passes her the bowl wordlessly and she lights it up, humming as she exhales and leans back, propping her feet up on the railing. 

“Thanks for the party, Cas,” she says, reaching over and squeezing his hand. “Love you.” 

“It’s the least I could do,” Castiel replies, pulling a leg up and turning in his chair so that he’s facing her. A firefly flits between them and without hesitation, Rachel smashes it against the house with her beer bottle, giggling when the smear on the siding glows bright green in the dark. It’s not at all hard in that moment to see the tiny, curious six-year-old she used to be the year their mom died and Castiel became the closest thing to a parent she was ever going to get. “I’m so fucking proud of you, Rachel, you do know that, right?” 

Her smile fades a little as she tips her head to the side in consideration. “That’s kinda what I’m out here to talk to you about, yea,” she confesses.

“Oh? I see, I’m not cool enough to just hang out with anymore,” he teases. “You need a whole _ reason _to be seen in my presence.” 

“Shut the fuck up, Cas,” she grins, reaching over and shoving at his shoulder. 

Castiel laughs and clinks his beer bottle to hers. “So tell me.” 

Rachel takes a deep breath and fiddles with the condensation-damp label on her bottle. “Yea, so, I was thinking. I heard Sam and Gabe talking about how you might go back to school, that Dean’s boss at the Fire Department teaches part-time at the cooking school—”

“Culinary school,” Castiel corrects automatically. 

“Whatever, the important thing is that he’s willing to hook you up.” Rachel rolls her eyes. “I uh, I wanted to tell you that I was proud of you too, actually.” She looks up from her picking to meet his eyes, and for whatever reason, Castiel’s surprised to realize that she’s serious. _ Proud of him? For what? He hasn’t done a damn thing yet. _ She must notice the look on his face because she gives him a bitchface that could give even Sam a run for his money. “You’re so damn hard on yourself,” she complains. “I can’t believe you don’t see how amazing you are. You’ve carried this family for twelve years, Cas, you were just a kid when you took it all on. And yea, Gabe helped, but it’s not like all of us don’t know that he’s as much a kid as any of us were at times. You’ve always been our rock, you never let us down. I _ know _what you did for us, Cas. I’ve known for a long time. I’m only sorry I didn’t say something, I should have. It wasn’t fair what you felt like you needed to do and—no, don’t do that,” she warns, glaring as he opens his mouth to protest.

“You and your siblings were never a burden, Rachel,” Castiel says gently. “I never did anything I didn’t want to do. It’s very important to me that you know that.” 

“I do,” Rachel agrees, nodding her head. “It’s why I’m so proud of you for choosing something better. For kicking the drugs, for getting off the streets, for showing all of us that we _ can _if we want to, and that it’s okay to ask for help if we need it.”

Castiel has to look away, hiding his face behind the droopy sleeves of the light sweatshirt he’d thrown on when the night got a little chilly. He wipes at his eyes and swallows hard against the lump in his throat before turning back to Rachel, only to see that she’s got a few tears on her cheeks too. He moves to hug her, but she holds out a hand.

“Just wait,” she says. “Let me get this out.” She takes a deep breath. “I don’t want to go to college, Cas. I don’t think I’m really cut out for it. But I _ do _think that’s okay, and thanks to you, I’ve been feeling lately like I want more than working at the bodega or waitressing in short skirts at the club. I want to go to Cosmetology school. I’ve been practicing a little on Anna and Hannah, I think I could be good at it.”

“I was wondering where those blue streaks in Anna’s hair came from,” Castiel muses. Rachel shifts in her seat, waiting for his reaction.

“So?” She asks nervously. “What do you think? It’s way less expensive than college and I’ve got quite a bit stashed away, I wouldn’t even need your help, I just—”

“I think it’s wonderful,” Castiel replies, cutting off her anxious rambling. 

“You do?”

“Yes,” he says seriously. “I’m tired of buzzing the twins' hair, and barbershops are expensive.” 

Rachel rolls her eyes and swigs her beer. “You’re such a _ dad, _” she says.

Doing his best to ignore the fact that Rachel’s half-insult is the greatest compliment he can imagine receiving, Castiel grins. “I love you too. And I _ am _very proud of you. We’ll make cosmetology school happen for you, of course we will.”

“And culinary school for you,” Rachel prods, and suddenly, Castiel realizes what she’s done, painting him into a corner by pretending she thinks he’s already decided to go. 

“You’re sneaky,” he says.

“I learned from the best,” she replies, wiggling her eyebrows.

“Fine,” he agrees. “Together?” 

“Together.” 

Their beers clink, and a symphony of cicadas and crickets join their toast. 

_ Guess I’m going back to school, _Castiel thinks, in complete disbelief.

***


	14. Resolution

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Track:[The Resolution - Jack's Mannequin](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3UgGe50SbeI)

_I'm alive_  
_and I don't need a witness_  
_to know that I survived_  
_I'm not looking for forgiveness._  
_Yea, I just need light,_  
_I need light in the dark as I search for the resolution._

As it turns out, there’s a lot more involved with Castiel _ going back to school _ than just showing up to class and trusting that Chuck’s royalty money will tide the family over until he finishes. For starters, Benny, Dean’s boss and the closest thing he has to a best friend besides him and Sam, doesn’t seem to like Castiel all that much. He makes it clear that while he’s happy doing _ Dean _a favor, he doesn’t owe Castiel jack shit. 

It’s not what Cas expected, considering how tight Dean and Benny are, the way Benny treats him when they’re alone. He _ pushes _Castiel, more so than he does any other student, both in class and during the work-study program Castiel’s enrolled in to help cover his comped tuition. “Work-study” is really loose code for “janitor,” but Castiel doesn’t mind that at all. He’s done far worse jobs than mopping floors and scraping the gum from underneath desks, and he doesn’t try to shirk any of his duties. Most days he’s at the school well into the night, cleaning everything from the hallways to the bathrooms to all of the cooking equipment and whatever other menial task Benny decides needs to be done before he can punch out and go home. 

Those nights, the hallways are dark, half of the lights already out since everyone else has long gone home, the classrooms wide and empty. It’s a little bit lonely, not to mention degrading, since Benny takes every opportunity to hover over his work, inspecting with a swipe of his finger and demanding Castiel clean whatever it is a second, third, or fourth time. Castiel does his best to grit his teeth and keep his head down, doing what he’s told without question, because he _ does _ like the classes, and Benny is actually quite a good teacher. Though because of Benny’s treatment of him, Castiel certainly prefers the classes he has during the day that Benny _ doesn’t _teach.

He tries everything to sway Benny’s opinion, too. He smiles and jokes and makes small talk when they’re alone. He works his tail off both in class and during his work-study, he brings Benny coffee and a plate of baked goods Anna whipped up for him. Dean thinks he’s overreacting, says something about how _ good teachers push you, _and while Castiel doesn’t disagree, something still feels off about Benny’s attitude towards him. But Dean’s the one who knows him best and he passionately disagrees, insisting that Benny is “cool,” and that Castiel just needs to give him a chance. 

“Besides,” Dean’s apt to remind him pointedly, “He’s giving _ you _a chance.” 

And Castiel can’t disagree with that, nor does he want to let Rachel down and bail on their deal when she’s kicking ass at the beauty school down the street, so he keeps his mouth shut and just tries to ignore when his spidey senses tingle and tell him that what Benny _ really _wants is to rip his face off. He grins and bears it, even when he’s so salty at Benny’s treatment of him that he starts to associate his lazy Southern drawl with something akin to nails sliding down a chalkboard.

But all of his simmering frustration and untapped anger comes to a head one evening when Benny makes him scrub down the inside of every oven in the training kitchen for the _ second _ night in a row, when they’re all still sparkling and Benny knows perfectly well that the fumes from the cleaning solution make Castiel woozy. Not to mention, the dizzying sensation he gets from breathing them in sets him on edge, way too close to a high for his comfort. He hates it, and he’s said so, loudly and without any ambiguity. So the fact that Benny’s making him do it _ again _unnecessarily reeks to high heaven of punishment and sabotage. 

But still Castiel does it, muttering to himself and stuffing a rag inside his cleaning mask to further filter the chemicals from the air he’s breathing. Benny checks out and leaves him to it, so at least there’s no one to notice when he perhaps doesn’t go _ all out _on every oven. When he finally wraps up for the night, storing his materials and clocking out, it’s an hour past the time he told Dean he’d be home and he’s not looking forward to the twenty-minute bike ride still in front of him. His back hurts something awful from bending over, his hands are sore from scrubbing, and his head is a little fuzzy, despite the precautions he’d taken. 

So when he steps outside the school into the crisp fall air, it’s safe to say that Castiel is not in the best of moods. And when he approaches the bicycle rack to find Benny standing with his hand on Dean’s chest, the two of them laughing and clearly _ flirting, _ the thread of sanity he’s been clinging to like Rose Dawson and that floating scrap of wood in _ Titanic _ abruptly disappears, as if it never existed at all. Fury rises inside him with a rage Castiel honestly didn’t even know he was capable of as he watches them interact, and he instantly decides that _ no _ “fresh start,” _ no _ free education is worth _ this. _ Abuse and cold behavior towards him was one thing, but making a move on _ Dean? _ Castiel isn’t busting his ass away from home twelve plus hours a day just to have his _ home _ripped out from under him by the motherfucker who he’s just now decided is clearly keeping him busy so that he can do exactly that. 

He stalks up to the two of them, his eyes narrowed and his face set, his mind made up.

“Cas, hey,” Dean starts, the happy smile that was stretching his face melting away when he takes in Cas’ demeanor. For the time being, Castiel ignores him, focusing on Benny’s hand dropping away from Dean’s chest as he approaches.

“What the _ fuck _is your problem?” He spits the words at Benny and plants his hands squarely in the middle of Benny’s chest, shoving as hard as he can. While Benny is slightly larger than him in both height and bulk, Castiel’s been working his ass off to get his muscle tone back, and he’s pretty confident that his newly bulked up arms and shoulders will be able to land a few solid hits, even if Benny ultimately takes him out. 

“Whoa, Cas! What…?” Castiel can feel Dean’s breath puffing behind his ear as he wraps strong arms around his torso, dragging him back and preventing him from actually taking those calculated swings while Benny is busy trying not to fall over. Castiel snarls as his window of opportunity is lost.

“He hates me, Dean!” Castiel yells, but at the same time he still allows Dean to hold him back. A flash of confusion flies across Benny’s face, but it’s quickly replaced with the cool, condescending mask that’s usually there when he addresses Castiel. “Let me go,” Cas says quietly, turning his head to look over his shoulder so that his words are for Dean only. “I’m calm.” Hesitantly, Dean complies, though he’s clearly still poised to reach out and snatch him back if necessary. Castiel steps aside so that he can see Dean and Benny both and reiterates his point. 

“He _ hates _me. I don’t know what I ever did to him but it’s true. He tortures me, treats me worse than a dog. Nothing I do is good enough, clearly, so I’m done. Thanks for the “help,” but I’ll save you the trouble of failing me out. I quit.” He hears Dean snort a little when he does the air quotes, but ignores him. He turns on his heel to grab his bike, but to his surprise, Benny stops him with a firm hand on his shoulder.

“Dean, could you give us a minute?” Dean looks between them, but Benny keeps his eyes locked on Castiel’s, and Castiel’s not about to back down now. He’s not afraid of Benny. 

“Sure…” Dean says slowly, obviously reluctant to grant the request. “I’ll just… Sam asked me to give him a ring. Be over by the car if you need me.” Only then does Castiel notice that the Impala is parked by the curb, maybe fifty feet away. It makes him wonder if Dean came to pick him up, or if Benny asked him to stop by. The latter thought fills him with rage all over again, and he removes Benny’s hand with his own.

“Let’s just agree to go our separate ways and never see each other again,” Castiel suggests. “I don’t know what I did to make you hate me, but I didn’t conquer my demons just to allow other people to abuse me.” He pulls out the key to his bike lock and pops it open. 

“Hold your horses there, Hot Wings,” Benny replies, and Castiel shoots him a glare.

“If you think mocking my name will make me want to stay and speak with you, then you’re even more twisted than I thought. Perhaps it _ is _you and not me after all.” He yanks the front wheel out from where it’s jammed into its parking spot and swings one leg over the bike, but Benny gets in front of him and closes one big hand over the center of the handlebar.

“Please,” he says, and when Castiel looks him in the eyes, he doesn’t _ look _like he’s being sarcastic or insincere, or even like he’s hoping for a fight. Castiel licks his lips and glances over at Dean to find him leaning back against his car, shooting them both not-very-covert looks. 

“You have two minutes,” he tells Benny, folding his arms across his chest.

“It _ is _me,” Benny says frankly, and Castiel furrows his brow. 

“What… exactly, is you?”

“I, uh, I’m an addict,” Benny admits. “So’s my wife. I’m in recovery going on six years now, but ‘Drea… she ain’t been so lucky.” He stops talking and looks down at his shoes, pulling his hat off and scratching the greying hair on the top of his head. “S’not like she didn’t try, you know? She fought like hell, some of the time, anyway. Dragon just dug its claws into her a little deeper’n it got me.” 

Castiel’s jaw works, irritated but somewhat understanding at least. “So my past is the problem,” he says. “You wanted to do Dean a favor, but you found you couldn’t get past my history, my mistakes.” Castiel nods curtly. “Seems like it’s a good thing I’ve decided to save us both the trouble.” He moves to pull his bike away again, but Benny holds on.

“Jesus, angel, will you slow down for a minute?” 

“Don’t call me that.” 

Benny raises an eyebrow and puts his hands up. “My apologies. You don’t remember me, Cas, but I think you might remember her. Y’all ran in the same circles for some time. Her name was Andrea.” 

And just like that, everything slots into place for Castiel. _ Andrea. _ He hasn’t thought about her in years, but he knows exactly who she was. _ Was _ being the key word. Andrea was a cautionary tale, one of the reasons he’d been so careful with shooting heroin to begin with. A wild thing, someone no one could rein in, least of all Andrea herself. She’d run with a drug-fueled gang headed up by a man called _ The Master. _ Andrea had eventually been the first person to overdose at Balthazar’s club, back around when Castiel had first started using at all. Shortly after he’d come on the scene, Kali had taken care of The Master for good, usurping his territory and clientele as if he’d never existed at all. He and Andrea hadn’t been friends, not by a long shot, but he saw her around and sometimes they watched each other’s backs turning tricks. He never had any clue that she was married. All she ever talked about were the drugs.

“I didn’t know,” he whispers, and Benny shrugs. 

“Not many do.” He pauses and Castiel catches his darting glance over in the direction of the Impala. “I like Dean,” Benny tells him. “He’s a good man.” He chews his bottom lip, pulls it in between sharp teeth and draws it back out slowly. “I also know that you ain’t even a couple of months sober. Sam and Dean, they got all this faith in you, but me? To me, you got Andrea written all over you.” 

“That’s not fair,” Castiel protests. 

“No, it ain’t,” Benny agrees. “And that’s why I owe you an apology. You’re right, everything you said to Dean is true. I’ve been too rough with you, judged you too harshly in a way I had no right to.” He looks up from where he’s been staring at the concrete and his light blue eyes are sharp, piercing against Castiel’s. “When you overdosed, it brought a lot of shit rushing back for me. Seeing you like that, seeing Dean all torn up. Brother, I _ wish _you could have seen the way watching you die broke him. I ain’t never seen Dean like that, and we’ve been through some rough calls together.” He swallows. “But I’m not protecting Dean by hurting you. I know that, I do. I can do better. You think you might want to let me try?” 

Castiel regards him carefully. On the one hand, he still sort of wants to smash Benny’s face into the sidewalk. On the other, he completely understands. He can barely stand himself some days, has moments where he thinks about running away and throwing himself down the heroin hole all over again, consequences be damned. He can only imagine if his and Benny’s roles were reversed how he’d been acting. “I think I can do that,” he finally replies, and Benny sticks out his hand. Castiel takes it, shaking once but then holding on when Benny moves to pull away. “One more thing,” he says, eyes narrowed. “You don’t come on to Dean.” 

At that, Benny throws his head back and howls with laughter. Castiel yanks his hand back, offended, but Benny waves him off, doing his best to get his mirth under control. Dean wanders back over, probably wondering what all the ruckus is about, and Castiel huffs, never intending to have this discussion in front of him. 

“Castiel here thinks I’m sweet on you,” Benny tells Dean, a big grin splitting his face. 

“You had your hands all over his chest,” Castiel protests. “I saw you.” 

Benny turns his wide smile and twinkling eyes back to him. “Angel, you and me really gotta get on the same wavelength. First of all, Dean’s a pretty, pretty boy but I don’t swing that way. Least of all not with a taken man, and definitely not one who’s as head-over-heels in love as _ he _is. Plus, I don’t shit where I eat.” 

Castiel watches as a light clicks on in Dean’s head. “You mean when you came outside and we were talking? Cas, you idiot,” he says, pulling at his shirt until it comes untucked so he can yank it up, exposing his stomach. But instead of revealing Dean’s tanned abdomen and toned chest, all Castiel sees is black. Black fabric crisscrossed with black straps. “It’s a bulletproof vest,” Dean explains. The whole department got fitted today, I was just breaking it in on the way home and Benny was making fun of me.” 

“Oh,” is all Castiel can think to say, his cheeks filling with heat. He does his best to disregard the surprising flare of desire in his belly that seeing the vest on Dean provokes, but apparently he’s got some kind of thing for men in uniform and the flame stubbornly refuses to die. Still, he needs to bring closure to this thing with Benny, and he glances over at him guiltily. “It seems you are not the only one who jumped to judgment here.” 

“That’s alright, brother,” Benny replies swiftly. “Glad we were able to sort things out.” He offers a hand again and this time Castiel shakes it firmly, accompanied by a small smile. 

“Benny, if you don’t mind, I’m going to take Dean home now.”

“Take _ me _home? Which one of us has the car?” 

Castiel ignores him, save for pushing him bodily towards the vehicle while dragging the bike along with them. “Dean and I need to go break in this vest some more. Right now.” 

Benny laughs loud and long, waving them off as they shove the bike into the backseat and drive away.

***

It takes Castiel the better part of a year of juggling kids and school and his new apprenticeship at one of the few fine dining restaurants the city has to offer to even notice that Gabe has something up his sleeve. At first, it almost seems like he’s reverting to old patterns again, disappearing at odd hours, being secretive, showing up with wads of cash that he stubbornly refuses to account for. Sam clearly knows something that he isn’t sharing, remaining tight-lipped every time Castiel attempts to trick him into spilling. Because of that, Castiel starts to worry, eventually cornering Gabe one morning after he comes creeping home thinking the house would be empty. He finds Gabriel unsurprisingly with half his body inside the fridge, rooting around for something to eat.

“Where were you?” 

Gabe shrieks and jumps, smacking his head on one of the shelves and withdrawing from the fridge with a wince and a hand on his head. “Jesus, Cassie. You really know how to sneak up on a guy. Maybe it’s time we revisit that idea Dean had about getting you a bell.” He pulls out an assortment of sandwich supplies, turning to dump them on the counter before setting about compiling them into a cold cut monstrosity that Dean would absolutely be jealous of. 

“Don’t change the subject,” Castiel replies, leaning against the counter with a hand on his hip. “Please don’t treat me like I’m stupid, Gabe, something is clearly going on with you. After everything we’ve been through, why won’t you trust me with whatever it is?” 

Gabriel puts down the knife he has slathered in mayonnaise, looking up from his construction project with a surprised expression on his face. “You think I don’t trust you?” 

Castiel spreads his hands. “What else am I supposed to think, Gabe? It’s that or you’re ashamed of whatever it is you’re doing, and I honestly don’t want to think about the ramifications of what that might mean, so yes, not trusting me appears to be the better option.” 

Gabriel turns to face him, uncharacteristically serious. “Shit, Cas. I never thought you’d think _ that,” _he says, running a hand through his hair. “Listen, I just didn’t want to let you down or get your hopes up in case I failed.” Castiel just raises his eyebrows and waits. Gabriel sighs.

“Sam put up the money to buy their old house down the street. We’re flipping it. I’ve been taking courses online to get my real estate license, he’s helping with that, too.”

Castiel snorts. “Not surprised he’s flush these days, what with handling all of Kali’s business.” 

Gabriel perks up. “Yea, right? Who knew? She’s usually more into shooting her exes than befriending their replacements but…” He shrugs. “Guess people change.”

“Is Sam doing okay with all of that? He doesn’t feel…”

“I don’t think Kali would actually hurt him, if that’s what you mean. He’s valuable. Not a single member of her gang has done any jail time since he’s been representing them. Well, except Baldur, but that dude was always a ticking time bomb. Even Kali knows you can’t stab someone in the courthouse parking lot and expect to get away with it. Anyway, it isn’t like Sam’s doing it for free. She’s a client, the _ gang _is a client, same as any other. That’s Sam’s job, it’s what he signed on for. Plus, he claims Kali’s business alone is gonna help him make partner within the next five years, so I’d say he’s pretty okay with it.” 

“But more to the point,” Castiel presses, his hand toying with the end of Gabriel’s discarded knife. “Why would you hide something like this from me? What did I do to earn that level of distrust?”

Gabriel ducks his head in a rare show of humility. “Yea, well, maybe it wasn’t you I was worried about.” He rubs at the back of his neck and shrugs again. Castiel narrows his eyes, having difficulty believing this is even his terminally over-confident brother in front of him. “Maybe I didn’t want to be the only failure in the family,” Gabriel finally admits. “Sam keeps telling me to loop you guys in, especially you, Cas, but I just couldn’t do it. You and Rachel are doing so well, Hannah’s off at college with a full ride, what the hell do I have to offer? I’m over thirty and I’ve never worked a legit job a day in my life. Turns out, there isn’t much market out there for retired drug dealers, in case you hadn’t noticed. Not to mention the fact that I’m dating a guy who put himself not just through college but _ law school _ and became like, a one-percenter in this city _ through hard work alone. _What the fuck do I know about hard work? Anyway, laugh it up, your brother’s a washed-up loser at thirty-three, ha ha.” 

Castiel stares at him for a second before turning around, rifling through the silverware drawer until he can pull out a real knife. He holds it up and advances on Gabriel.

“Whoa there,” Gabriel says, hands flying up in front of his face defensively. “Did not anticipate _ this _level of anger and hostility.”

“Not angry,” Castiel replies smoothly. “Give me your arm so I can test it against this silver knife. You’re not making any sense, my brother Gabriel would _ never _speak so poorly of himself, I doubt he’s even capable of it. The only conclusion I can come to is that you’re a shapeshifter, and I’ve heard that they flinch when touched with silver.” 

Gabriel nods towards the knife. “Well you’re shit out of luck there, that thing’s one step up from dollar store aluminum.” Castiel cracks a smile and drops the knife onto the counter, drumming his fingers next to it. “I know what it feels like to hate yourself,” he says softly. “And to believe for so long that you aren’t capable of anything more than what you’ve always done, so much so that you manifest it into existence.” He looks up and makes eye contact with his brother. “I would never mock you for trying and failing, but the Gabriel I know doesn’t accept failure as an option. He never has.” 

“You really think that about me?” For the first time since they were little boys, Castiel realizes that Gabriel sounds vulnerable, nervous even.

“Of course,” he replies, “But only because you believed in me first.” He looks away and pretends not to notice as Gabriel swipes at his eye. 

“Fuckin’ dust in the air or something,” he mutters. “All of us being actual productive members of society has really been a blow to the housekeeping in this place.”

“So,” Castiel continues. “When do I get to see the house?” 

“Later,” Gabriel replies. “Whole bunch of neighborhood kids up in there now doing all the hands-on heavy lifting. Sam’s down there supervising while I get some shut-eye.”

“Doesn’t he have his own work?” 

Gabriel shoots him a devious look, wiggles his eyebrows and borrows Castiel’s patented air quotes. “Client meetings in the field,” he says with a grin. 

“Ah,” Castiel replies. “I assume that’s code for standing on the sidewalk with Kali to provide her legal advice regarding whatever crimes she has on deck.” 

“Bingo.” Gabriel shoots finger guns in Castiel’s direction. “Watching her and Sam trade notes is weird as hell, but it’s a small price to pay for my freedom.” Gabriel finishes making his sandwich and cuts it in half, offering one to Castiel, who accepts.

“So what’s the long game here, Gabe? Or is there one?” He takes a bite of his own while he waits for Gabriel to finish chewing.

“Well,” Gabriel says around a swallow, “Sam and I saw a bunch of suits scouting the trio of condemned houses maybe ten blocks south of here. They were surveying to replace them with a shit load of income-based apartments. I figure, if this city’s gonna be the next victim of gentrification, who better to cash in on that than the poor suckers who’ve lived here all along?”

Castiel purses his lips and gives Gabriel a sideways glare. “You’re going to prey on people like us?” 

Gabriel shakes his head quickly and forgets to swallow before speaking again, sending a spray of crumbs in Castiel’s direction. “No way, short-sighted. Think _ bigger _ than that. We give people like _ us _a break while preying on the assholes who can afford it. Sam and I were thinking multiple buildings, major ROI, considering what we can grab the property for. Might take a while of flipping house by house, but we’ll get there. Plus, you know. Would be a way to give back a little, show kids like us that there are other options besides the gangs, the drugs. I dunno.” He regards Castiel somewhat warily, as if he thinks he won’t approve or believe Gabe can actually be successful in carrying out such a big plan.

“I think… that it’s an incredible idea. You know, Anna is applying to art school. Scholarships for that are particularly hard to come by. The restaurant has promised me a chef’s position when I graduate, but that salary would not support Jimmy, Manny, and Anna’s advanced education all on its own. A steady stream of income from renters would be… extremely useful.”

“Pretty sure Jimmy’s headed for trade school, Cas.”

“Nonetheless, Manny won’t be, and he hasn’t identified an area of interest yet. This was… extremely intelligent planning on your part, Gabriel. So tell me, what can I do to help?”

Gabriel blinks, clearly still surprised that Castiel is so readily on board, so full of faith in him.

“Thanks, Cas,” he says quietly. “That really means a lot. And there’s, you know, plenty you can do to help.” 

“You can count on me,” Castiel replies. “After all, what’s family for?” 

“To pass out on your bed for twenty-four hours straight in a drunken stupor, according to Chuck.” Castiel laughs and then abruptly stops, scanning Gabe’s expression.

“You’re not kidding, are you?”

“Nope,” Gabriel says, popping the "p". “Manny texted me when I was on my way home to check on him, he’s been there since yesterday. Pretty sure there’s vomit.”

“Seriously?!” Castiel turns and flies up the stairs two at a time, yelling at the top of his lungs. “_ CHUUUUUCK!! Goddammit!” _

***


	15. To the Ends of the Earth

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Track:[Ends of the Earth - Lord Huron](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MJCqbuJxTEs)

_ Two Years Later _

Castiel smiles in satisfaction when he presses the button on the washing machine and it thrums to life, working exactly as it should. Movement on the couch in the living room catches his eye but it’s just Chuck, rolling over and grumbling in his sleep. At least he’d made it to the couch this time. Castiel grabs two clean t-shirts and two pairs of jeans from the folded stacks sitting in the laundry basket and places them aside on the kitchen counter. There are eggs and toast doled out to three plates on the table, still steaming from the pan. From somewhere above him, he hears a dull _thud _followed by the sounds of arguing teenage boys. Other than that, the house is quiet, and Castiel takes advantage of the peace, sipping hot tea as he grabs the rusted coffee tin from where it’s returned to its place at the top of the refrigerator. He pulls out a stack of already stamped envelopes, checking their contents before sealing each of them up. 

_ Check for Anna’s tuition… check for Hannah’s rent… Water and sewer… electricity. _ All there, all accounted for, and better yet, money to back each of them waiting in the bank. His phone buzzes in his pocket and when he opens it, it’s a picture of the apartment building Gabe and Sam had been working to purchase for almost half a year now framed with the caption _ “We got it!!!” _ Castiel grins and shoots off a reply, within seconds receiving another message telling him that under no circumstances should he come over to the Winchester house to try and celebrate. Castiel rolls his eyes. As if he would.

With over twenty successful flips under their belts and with Gabriel’s real estate star on the rise, Sam and Gabe had recently decided to incorporate, moving on with Gabe’s original plan to where the big bucks are waiting. And that, of course, would be gouging yuppies willing to pay inflated rent prices on a set of “newly-renovated industrial lofts.” Of course, they have to actually _ do _the renovations first before the gouging can commence, but Castiel’s more than confident in his brother’s increasingly fine-tuned skills.

Plus, Gabe has the support of the whole neighborhood. Countless moms and dads, siblings and aunties, all who breathe a little easier knowing their kid is getting a check from Gabriel for _ real, _resume-building construction work and not off shooting or selling smack. Castiel’s proud as hell of his brother, and the rest of his siblings, too. Speaking of which… He closes Gabriel’s message and opens his group text thread with all the girls. Even though both Anna and Rachel are still technically living at home and he’s guaranteed to have Hannah stopping by to steal food sooner rather than later, he still sends a text reminder for all of them to clear their schedules the Saturday evening two weeks from now. He knows it’s homecoming season and therefore Rachel’s salon will be busy on Saturdays, but she’s got enough employees now that she should be able to swing taking off, just this once. 

As for him, being Head Chef has its perks, specifically the ability to close the restaurant just to throw a party for his siblings’ birthdays, especially the big ones. 

And this is a big one. Jimmy and Manny are turning eighteen, and Castiel is _ technically _a free man, though he knows it’s still a long time coming before his siblings (and Chuck) won’t need him anymore. And that’s alright, he’s perfectly content with the way things are. He spends most of his nights at Dean’s these days, his set up being far more comfortable and private, but Castiel is still in charge of his own household, still available for pep talks and hugs and home-cooked meals. 

Castiel startles out of his reverie when the back door clicks open and Dean strolls in, rumpled and unshaven from his nightshift at the firehouse. When he strides unapologetically into Castiel’s space, pushing him back up against the counter and kissing him deeply, his skin smells faintly of fire and ash, a smear of it still marring the skin of his upper arm. Castiel breathes him in, wraps arms around the back of his neck as Dean’s find their way to his waist, hoisting him up onto the counter and stepping between his legs. 

“Good morning to you too,” Castiel murmurs and Dean smiles against his mouth. 

“Heya, Cas,” he says in between presses of lips.

“Hello, Dean,” Castiel mumbles back, Dean swallowing his words.

Like clockwork, there’s thunder on the stairs as the boys clatter down, naked save for boxers and socks, bitching and complaining to each other about their class assignments. Castiel pulls away from Dean regretfully and sighs, searching his eyes for forgiveness and finding it easily. 

“Later,” he promises, thumbing a little wetness away from the corner of Dean’s lip. He slides off of the counter and smacks Dean’s ass. “Go eat,” he insists, gesturing to the table, and Dean complies, clapping and rubbing his hands together in excitement.

“You spoil me, Cas,” he says happily. 

Jimmy and Manny are just finishing pulling on their respective clothes and shoes, and as soon as Cas is untangled from Dean they jump him, asking a million questions at the same time about senior year.

“Uh uh,” Castiel chastises, looking at his watch. “Talk with your mouth full, go. You’ve got five minutes.”

While the twins shove food in their faces, Castiel dons his dress shoes, a navy tie, and the navy suit jacket to match the pants he’s wearing. He still feels out of place in his crisp button-down and fancy clothes, things he’d picked out with Dean only a week prior, but the job of Head Chef requires a certain image, and this is it. While the restaurant doesn’t even start prepping for service for another few hours, Castiel has a meeting this morning with the new potential produce supplier, and if it goes well, another with his team regarding overhauling the menu. 

So much has changed.

Having inhaled everything on their plates, Castiel tosses the boys each a flannel and a jacket as it’s chilly outside for September. He turns to grab his brand new trenchcoat, only to find Dean standing there holding it out for him. “Thank you, Dean,” he says with a smile, leaning in to give him a kiss. 

After slipping it on, Castiel glances nervously over at Dean, searching for his approval. “I feel like someone’s father,” he admits. “Are you sure I don’t look like a tax accountant?” 

Dean snorts. “Maybe like, the hottest tax accountant on the planet,” he teases, fingering Cas’ lapels. “Maybe if tax accountants posed for Playgirl.” The twinkle in his eye is contagious, and Castiel relaxes, kissing him again before shoving him away.

“I’ll be back in twenty, be ready or I’m leaving without you.” 

Dean rolls his eyes and mock-salutes. “Aye aye, Captain.” 

***

The air is crisp but the sun is pleasant as the three of them walk the familiar streets towards the High School. Castiel tries to ignore the fact that his new shoes are rubbing the back of his ankles raw already, making a mental reminder to grab bandaids before he heads off to work. On the way, Jimmy skateboards ahead of them as usual and Manny talks Castiel’s ear off, asking question after question about college applications that Castiel hasn’t the faintest idea how to answer, but promises they’ll talk to Sam about later. _ Thank God for Sam, _he thinks.

As they crest the hill that leads up to the familiar building, Castiel catches sight of Principal Adler holding the door again at precisely the same time Jimmy does. 

"_S__eriously, _Cas, get out of here. I don’t care how respectable you look now, that guy is never going to like you. Aw, fuck, too late. He sees you. Now my day is ruined, probably the whole year.” Jimmy chucks the cigarette he was smoking out into the lawn where it smokes in the grass. Zachariah watches him do it and makes a face that looks as if he’s tasted something bitter. Castiel bites back a smile but wisely doesn’t say anything about it.

“Have a good day,” he calls after the twins, though only Manny turns back to wave.

Zachariah squints in his direction, giving him a once over that lasts just a second too long, and Castiel can almost _ see _the gears turning inside his head. He raises a hand in greeting but Zachariah just scowls and disappears inside the school, the door banging shut behind him. Castiel turns and makes his way towards home.

On the return trip, he passes the houses with the alley in between them where he almost lost his life all those years ago. And today, instead of avoiding it he walks through, truly unfazed for the first time in years. As it turns out, it’s just an alley. Brick and stone and pavement, nothing more. When he reaches the other side in one piece, he doesn’t feel any different, though he thinks he should. But he also doesn’t look over his shoulder for danger, either. It’s just an alley. Just a piece of his past. 

When he reaches his home, Dean’s already outside, still in his duty uniform of a navy t-shirt and heavy navy cargo pants that fit him like sin. His hair is sticking up at all kinds of odd angles as if he ran wet hands through but didn’t bother to style it. His arms are folded across his chest and he’s leaning back against the Impala, a soft smile on his face as he watches Castiel approach. In his right hand is a joint and Castiel watches as he takes a long hit, holding it out when Cas is close enough to take it.

“You want?” 

“Always,” Castiel replies, but he pushes Dean’s hand away as steps into his space to lean in for a kiss instead. Coaxing Dean’s mouth open with his lips, he lets him breathe out into his mouth, shotgunning the hit straight from the source. “Mm,” Castiel says when he’s done, pulling away and releasing the smoke into the air. “That was nice.” Dean’s grin widens happily and he holds up his other hand.

“Brought your briefcase,” he says. 

“Thank you, Dean,” Castiel replies. 

“And these,” Dean continues, digging in his pocket and coming up triumphantly with two bandaids. “For your shoes.”

“How did you know?”

“The hard way,” Dean says seriously, with a little wince. “C’mon, you don’t wanna be late, Mr. Head Chef.” He beams as he opens Castiel’s door for him, stealing another kiss as he moves by, Cas’ hand sliding against Dean’s hip.

“You know you don’t have to drive me _ every _day,” Castiel tells him, already tucking himself inside the car because he knows the argument is futile. “You must be exhausted from last night.” 

Dean rounds the car and slides in behind the wheel. “I _ love _ driving you, sunshine. Wouldn’t miss it for something as boring as _ sleep. _I can do that shit any time.” He moves to put the car in drive, and Castiel suddenly remembers something he forgot. He reaches out to grab Dean’s wrist.

“Oh shit,” he says. “The bills, I forgot them on the counter.” Dean grins again and reaches inside one of the cargo pockets of his pants, pulling out the stack of sealed envelopes and waving them in Castiel’s direction. “I’ll stop at the Post Office after I drop you off.” 

“What would I do without you?” Castiel leans in and kisses him, and one turns into two, turns into three. “Okay,” he pants, forcing himself to finally pull away, Dean’s glazed eyes and kiss-swollen lips doing _ nothing _to help that decision along. “I really am going to be late,” he says regretfully.

“Later,” Dean suggests, mimicking his earlier promise.

“Later,” Castiel agrees, still smiling. And it’s true, they always have a later now. A later where the house will be full of family clamoring to talk over each other, sharing food and bits about their days, calling anyone who can’t be there just so they can check in as a group and harass them about whatever they’re doing that’s more important than family dinner. 

_ Later. _It’s a good feeling.

Dean reaches out for Castiel’s hand as the car takes off down the street, the shiny black exterior glinting beautifully in the morning sun. At the end of the street Dean stops at the sign before turning right and disappearing from sight.

_Out there's a world that calls for me, girl_  
_Headin' out into the unknown_  
_Well if there are strangers and all kinds of danger,_  
_please don't say I'm going alone._  
_To the ends of the earth, would you follow me?_  
_There's a world that was meant for our eyes to see_  
_To the ends of the earth, would you follow me?_  
_Well if you want, I will say my goodbyes to me_

***


	16. Epilogue: Nine Years Later

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Track:[You Are Free - Jimmy Eat World](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=i1tXfSbSSUY)
> 
> Bonus Track: [Last Train Home by Ryan Star](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2HoDRbZvOcM). A sort-of soundtrack for some of the years Cas and Dean were apart.

_ Epilogue: Nine Years Later _

Grunting under the weight of the box in his arms, Castiel staggers carefully down over the curb and into the street where the moving truck is parked. It’s already almost completely filled with furniture and a lifetime of both his and Dean’s belongings boxed up and labeled methodically, far more prepared than Castiel himself feels for their transition into the next stage of life. Wiping the sweat off of his brow, Castiel looks it all over and has to take a deep, calming breath at the sight of his entire life, the last forty years of his existence, tucked away neatly inside such a small space. He fights the urge to start unpacking it all, returning each piece to where it came from and just throwing the towel in on moving at all, starting with his and Dean’s big, perfect bed.

That bed had been relocated to Cas’ attic from the Winchesters’ house next door several years ago, back when Gabe and Sam had officially moved away, out into the County where Sam had wanted to be all along. Castiel secretly thinks Gabe’s always wanted that too, what with all his needling at Castiel to let Balthazar be his “sugar daddy” way back when, and he’s happy for them both. In the end, Gabe’s become arguably as successful as Sam is, so there’s no sugaring going on, but they seem content that way, and Dean and Cas still see them often.

_ Not so much from here on out, _ he realizes suddenly. After today, they’ll be a three-hour drive away instead of a twenty-minute one. Sighing morosely, he pushes his box further into the truck and reaches up to grab the roll-up door, pulling it closed and latching it with the locking mechanism. He padlocks it shut, just in case, because this neighborhood still isn’t the safest, and wouldn’t it be just his luck to have all his shit stolen _ now. _

Castiel glances up towards the attic window that has been his for over two decades now and forces back the tears in his eyes by reminding himself that he’s being silly. The house isn’t going anywhere, he and Dean can visit any time they want. While the Winchesters’ home has long since been flipped and sold off, theirs is still exactly the way it’s always been, full of life. Rachel and her husband are currently raising their own five children in that house. Anna is moving back in to help out now that Castiel and Dean are leaving, taking over their old attic space and adding an art studio so that she can work from home. And she’ll have plumbing up there, thankfully, since Sam and Gabe had done a major renovation years ago during a brief period when most of the kids were living elsewhere. Now the house is as nice as anything the city has to offer and doesn’t feel as cramped as it used to be.

Rachel’s three boys and two girls share the opposite configuration Rachel and her siblings had, with the girls in the bunk beds and Rachel and her husband taking Chuck’s old room. Castiel still can’t understand how Rachel sleeps in there, even gutted and completely renovated as it is. His own memories of his mother, especially her lifeless body lying there on the floor, still flash before his eyes if he so much as _ looks _in the direction of that room. Dean says the fact that Rachel doesn’t have the same issue is a credit to Castiel, but he’s pretty sure it’s just a function of age and distance. 

Castiel knows it’s long past time to move on, that he’s run out of excuses to stay, but it’s still hard to actually put himself through the motions. Despite Rachel’s insistence that she owes him everything and loves having him there, he can’t help but think she probably wants to move forward with her own life and her own kids, without her older brother overshadowing her every move. Still, Castiel can’t regret being around to see his nieces and nephews born, though Hannah lives out in the County with her fancy hospital administrator job and her doctor husband. Her kids are already spoiled and obnoxious, couldn’t pour a bowl of cereal for themselves if they tried, and Castiel isn’t sure how to feel about that. On the one hand, he’s glad they’ll never go through what he and his siblings did, but on the other, he likes to think they turned out pretty damn well because of it. 

Manny’s got a boyfriend so no kids there, but Jimmy’s got three, all with different moms, and the last Castiel checked he’s still dating them all. Castiel has to admit, as an uncle he’s probably not supposed to have favorites, but Jimmy’s oldest is unquestionably his. A little spitfire named Claire, at eight years old she’s Jimmy’s clone and has already gotten herself suspended from school for setting fire to the gymnasium. Castiel snickers as he steps up the concrete front steps, imagining just how much Zachariah Adler must be regretting transferring from his position as principal of the high school to the elementary in Jimmy’s district. Last he heard from his niece, the man definitely hates Claire’s “stupid face” just as much as he had his and Jimmy’s. Castiel made sure to apologize to her for that, because obviously, it’s his fault. 

But nieces and nephews aside, it’s not as if he didn’t have _ other, _ perfectly legitimate reasons to stick around, too. Beyond wanting to support his siblings and be an uncle to their children, it takes a _ long _time to build a reputation in the culinary community and gather enough clout to open your own restaurant. Investors are picky, their talent pool both wide and deep, and the last thing Castiel wanted was for his dream to be a flop, to end up jobless and broke at forty as if the last decade hadn’t meant a damn thing. 

But it was time now. He and Dean had saved their pennies and been able to put a sizeable down payment on the house of their dreams, the kind of place Castiel always assumed he’d work his whole life without ever coming close to being able to afford. Something right on the water, in fact, and in Longport, where Castiel has it on good authority that _ rich people live_. The house is beautiful, everything Castiel could have hoped for and more, but apparently, knowing all of that is waiting for him still doesn’t make it _ easy _to let go of his home. 

Because of Cas’ resistance, he and Dean had held off on moving permanently until the restaurant was only weeks from opening and he _had _to be there full-time every day. But that’s the reality of their life now, and if Castiel wants to see Dean at _all _on a daily basis, the move has to be done. And plus, Dean isn’t starting his new job at the Atlantic City Fire Department for another three weeks, so deciding to move now will give him an excuse to quit his old job early and give him a bit of vacation leading up to and through Castiel’s opening. The timing is right and there are really no more excuses to be made.

Everything is lined up and in place, all the pieces slotting together perfectly. This is his _ dream_, Dean’s too, all of it amounting to everything they dared wish for in their wildest fantasies all those years ago now walking off the page and into his very real life.

So why was Castiel still hesitating? 

He fixes his shirtsleeve where it’s come unrolled over his forearm, folding it back up again and revealing the bloom of flowers and bees that now cover the scars left behind on both arms from his assault all those years ago. Castiel smiles as his eyes land on Dean’s initials cleverly worked into the greenery that disguises the needle scars on his inner elbow and up across his bicep. The sight helps him shake off his nagging worries as he opens the front door, walking through the entryway and into the living room where everyone is crashed out with pizza and beer, tired after the move. Dean is sprawled out on the sofa with Rachel’s youngest asleep over his shoulder, and he puts a finger to his lips with a wink when he sees Castiel arrive. Sitting down quietly next to him, Castiel turns his attention to the TV, surprised to see Chuck’s face filling up the screen.

“You guys really got that thing to work?” He asks, referring to the VCR they’d found in the attic, and the assortment of home movies taken back before Cas’ mom had died and Chuck had taken off. Anna grins and nods, handing him a fresh beer before shoving her way in beside him on the couch and dropping her head to his shoulder. 

“I remember this,” she says, referring to the backyard barbeque depicted on the screen. 

Rachel snorts. “No way, you were like… three. _ If _ that.” 

“I don’t,” Hannah adds helpfully, from her place on the floor, one of her sons curled up in her lap. 

“Shut up, I can’t hear what he’s saying,” Jimmy snips, chucking a handful of popcorn in the general direction of his sisters. 

“Hey!” Rachel protests, “That’s my carpet you’re fucking up.” 

Jimmy just shrugs and swigs his beer, pressing the volume on the remote up just in time to hear Chuck declare, “And _ that’s _what’s wrong with the world today. Entitled kids that want everything handed to them!” With that, almost every pair of eyes in the room shifts to where Chuck’s urn is balanced on a shelf on the far wall. He’ll have been gone four years this December, not that a presence like Chuck’s ever really dies. Bastard had the nerve to kick it during the worst cold snap they’d had in over a decade, too. They’d all been unsure what to do with his ashes, it had felt wrong to scatter them anywhere but the Alibi, but Ellen had said in no uncertain terms, absolutely fucking not. 

So they’d put him on a shelf, next to all of their diplomas and college degrees and certifications. The wall is fully loaded, and Rachel has never made any mention of breaking it down and redistributing the pieces to their rightful owners to hang up in their own homes. It warms Castiel’s heart to see all of their accomplishments still lined up and displayed that way, like moving on and growing up doesn’t mean they aren’t still family. It makes all the difference between _ leaving for good _ and _ leaving for now. _ His own accomplishments are up there; from his thirty-days sober Narcotics Anon chip to his first ServSafe certification, to his offer letter to become Head Chef, to the statement from the bank approving his loan to start construction on his new restaurant. They’re all there, tucked in beside his brothers and sisters, proving once and for all that they’re _ worth something, _ that they’re all _ somebody _in their own ways, despite how they grew up and how they once struggled.

“Holy shit,” Dean exclaims, causing the baby to stir as he sits upright and stares at the TV, pulling Castiel’s attention back to the present. He turns his head to check out what’s made Dean risk waking a three-month-old and inadvertently lets out a little noise of surprise.

There, in a lawn chair to the right of Chuck Shurley, is John Winchester. 

“Picture this,” a 1990s, bathrobe-clad Chuck is saying to John as they both nurse their beers, clearly already most of the way drunk. “Two brothers traveling the country in their car, killing all sorts of supernatural creatures. That’s some New York Times bestseller shit, am I right?” 

John makes a face that looks as if he’s smelled something awful as he replies. “I wouldn’t read that in exchange for a lifetime open tab at the Alibi.” He lifts his beer and drains it, turning it upside down on the lawn and shaking the last few drops of foam out. “Dean!” He calls, “Bring your father another beer.” Chuck hits him in the arm. “And Chuck,” he adds gruffly. 

“Alright then, what about this,” Chuck continues, waving an arm across the space in front of him like he’s an ancient storyteller. “It all starts with a demon deal.” 

“You should keep your day job.” John cuts him off unapologetically as Dean’s lanky limbs step into the shot briefly to hand off two sweaty, brand-new bottles. Castiel shoots _ now-_Dean a look and bites back a smile, raising his eyebrows suggestively.

“Cradle robber,” Dean responds in mock offense, as 1990s Chuck mutters something in the background about writing _ being _his day job and John rolls his eyes.

“_Sammy! Throw it here!” _On-screen Dean darts off behind their fathers’ lawn chairs, presumably rejoining a ball game of some sort somewhere the camera can’t see. 

“I think I remember this,” Castiel muses. “Is this the day you stepped on that nail?” 

“Oh shit, you’re right,” Dean replies excitedly. “And my dad yanked it out with pliers, poured whiskey on it and called it good. I probably would have gotten lockjaw if Garth’s mom hadn’t been a nurse. Remember you and Sam pulled me in that wagon we stole from the Banes? Like twenty blocks, all the way down to the clinic she worked at.” He laughs in disbelief.

“You were such a little bitch that day,” Castiel says with a smile. 

“I had a _ nail _go all the way through my foot, tough guy. Let’s see how you like it. You can't even walk to the bathroom in the morning without moaning and groaning about your hips.” 

“I’m old now,” Castiel replies defensively. “I’m allowed to complain.” 

The video pans to the side, away from John and Chuck and onto the game of pick-up football going on in the dirt lot behind their yard. Right away, Cas can pick out Dean, Sam, Garth, Gabe, and a number of other neighborhood kids who have long since grown up and moved out, plus a few who weren’t so lucky. He sees Rachel digging in dirt on the sidelines with Anna beside her, Jimmy and Manny in a completely beat portable playpen not far away with a couple of other toddlers. Even then, the babies were clearly left in the care of the older kids, much closer to the football game than they were any adults. He sees a four-year-old Hannah walk up to the playpen with an armload of bottles filled with something red, handing them out before laying down in the grass beside them.

As the camera pans, Castiel catches sight of his younger self sitting off to the side atop an overturned recycling bin. He watches as his teenage foot scuffs a worn sneaker in the dirt, alternately watching the game and staring at the ground. On the screen, a sprinting teenage Dean screams and crumples to the ground, presumably as his foot finds that nail. The camera cuts out a moment later, but not before Castiel sees himself bolt off the box and straight for him, running towards Dean as if his life depends on it. No one looks away or speaks for a moment as the screen goes black. It’s quiet in the living room until Jimmy starts howling with laughter.

“Jesus Christ you two were obvious as hell,” he declares, slapping a hand to his chest and wiping at his eyes. “My God, no wonder you got your ass beat, Cas.” Manny grabs a pillow and smacks his twin in the face.

“You’re so rude,” he scolds, before turning to Cas. “I think it’s sweet.”

“You would,” Jimmy scoffs.

“Boys,” Castiel says as if they’re eight and not almost twenty-eight. He leans back against the couch cushions and takes Dean’s hand, the one that isn’t bracing a baby butt. “We should head out,” he says softly. “We’ve got a long drive, and I have a long day tomorrow. We can’t put this off any longer.”

Dean raises his eyebrows. “I ain’t the one putting shit off, Cas. I wanted to move two months ago after we closed on the house.” Castiel purses his lips but doesn’t reply, leaning over to kiss the baby’s tiny hand before Rachel deftly lifts her away. Snug against her mother’s neck, she stays fast asleep. 

There’s a flurry of hugs and sniffles after Cas and Dean get up from the couch, and two manly hugs with claps on the back for Jimmy. All too soon, Castiel’s _ really _run out of reasons to stay, and the door’s closing behind them with promises on both ends to call, text, and visit soon, at the very least for Cas’ opening. 

And then he and Dean are alone again, walking hand in hand down the walkway and towards the rental truck. But when Dean goes to pull away to walk around and get in on the driver’s side, Castiel tightens his grip and tugs him back. 

  
“Wait,” he says, emotion straining his voice. He looks back towards the house and up to his old window, then down to the ones in front where small faces are still pressed, watching them. “I don’t… I’m not sure that I can do this, Dean. This is my _ home. _”

Dean looks over at him thoughtfully, moving closer to wrap him in a hug before stepping back and rubbing Cas’ biceps with both hands. He leans in to kiss Castiel softly, letting their lips linger as he pulls away. “This isn’t your home, Cas. It’s where you grew up, but it’s not where you’re supposed to be. Simple as that.” With another half-smile and a clap to Castiel’s shoulder, Dean steps off the curb and leaves him standing there on his own.

With a hard swallow, Castiel takes one last look back and gives a short wave to the onlookers, who all wave crazily back, their mouths moving without sound on the other side of the window. The truck starts up and Castiel exhales a sad, shuddering breath before turning slowly and getting into the passenger’s side. 

Dean’s right. He doesn’t live here anymore.

***

_ Two Weeks Later _

Sighing from exhaustion, Castiel closes up his office and locks the door. He wanders through the dimly lit kitchen and out into the main dining room to where Dean is seated at the bar, the only other soul left inside the restaurant at three in the morning. His face lights up when he sees Castiel and he holds out his phone, the display bright and his browser navigated to the _ Press of Atlantic City’s _website.

“That critic’s review is up,” he says. “Congratulations, sweetheart, you’re a hit.” 

“Already? That’s surprising,” Castiel rumbles, taking Dean’s phone and scrolling through the words on the screen. The words _ creative, unexpected, innovative, _ and _ five stars, _all jump out at him, but he’s really too tired to comprehend their context. Castiel hands Dean’s phone back and buries his face in his shoulder. “Tired,” he grunts. “Much work.” 

Dean laughs softly and snakes an arm around him. Castiel can feel his torso stretch as he leans over the bar to drop his used whiskey glass into the sink on the other side. “Restaurant opening is serious business,” he replies. “Where’s your coat?”

Castiel groans in realization, the sound lost, muffled by cotton. “Dean, if I go back to my office now, I’m going to lie down on the floor and not get up for days.” 

“I remember a time when you used to do that on purpose,” Dean says lightly, the hint of a smile in his voice. “Least it’s your very own office now, that’s what we call _ character development.” _Castiel forces his head up and glares, doing his best to use his eyes to set Dean’s head on fire, but Dean only grins back at him and laughs. “Come on sunshine,” he continues, draping his own coat around Cas’ shoulders. They stagger out to the car together, Dean grabbing one of the bottles of champagne Castiel had received as a gift as they slip out the door and onto the boardwalk.

“And that was just the _ soft _opening,” Castiel sighs as Dean’s hand twines in his own and they set off down the wooden path in the direction of the parking lot. The casinos tower over their heads as the cool, almost-fall night air whips the scent of the ocean towards them. “Now we have a week to correct all of our mistakes before the real thing.”

“I dunno,” Dean replies. “Seemed pretty real to me.” 

“My back would agree,” Castiel affirms. “Why did you steal my champagne?”

Dean shrugs as their walking slows to wandering, shoulders bumping and brushing against each other. “You have tomorrow off, one whole day before you have to dive back in.”

“If I last that long,” Castiel agrees solemnly, and Dean pokes him.

“You’ll last,” he insists. “You need a break, and besides, I miss you.” 

Castiel flashes him a smile. “Alright,” he says. “I’ll last. We both know that I can outlast _ you.” _

Dean makes a face and waves a finger in his direction. “That’s low,” he says in pretend indignation. “Anyway, isn’t that a compliment? If anything, I should be offended you don’t find me as irresistible as you used to.” 

“Is that what you think?” Castiel asks, but Dean just shrugs. He notices that Dean’s eyes are focused away from him and out over the dark ocean, and Castiel takes that opportunity to swipe the champagne bottle from Dean’s hand and dart across the length of the boardwalk, towards the steps that lead down to the beach.

“Hey!” Dean calls after him. “Dammit, Cas, I’m too goddamn old for this.” But when Castiel glances back over his shoulder, Dean’s following in earnest, chasing him down the stairs and across the sand toward the crashing waves with a big smile on his face. Castiel laughs, stopping some feet shy of the water’s edge and quickly stripping out of his clothes and shoes, leaving only his boxers in place. He tackles Dean, ignoring his “_ Cas, _wait,” in favor of tugging at his clothes until he’s similarly undressed, pants pooled around his ankles and over his boots. Dean huffs as he tries to kick them off, presumably distracted by Castiel biting at his ear and pulling at his hips. 

They go stumbling into the water, Castiel dragging Dean in by the hand, and thankfully it’s not _ too _cool, still somewhat warmed by the heat of the late summer sun during the day. When they’re just over knee-deep (at least when the waves roll in), Castiel stops and strips the foil off of the champagne bottle, twisting the wire cage that protects the cork free. He grins as he aims it out to sea, only needing to apply slight pressure to send it shooting off and splashing into the dark water somewhere alongside the pier. The champagne explodes all over them and Dean shrieks as Castiel puts his thumb over the mouth and gives it a good shake, raining down expensive foam onto both of their heads. He takes a drink and then holds up the bottle for Dean, pouring some out into his mouth before diving forward and licking up one of the sticky trails that are running down his neck.

“Hell of a second wind,” Dean says breathlessly, one arm curling around Cas’ waist. Castiel threads an arm around his neck and pulls him in for a kiss, tasting salt, the bite of alcohol, and _ Dean. _ “But so long as you’re awake now,” he murmurs, leaning in to push their faces together, guiding Castiel backward and out of the water, down onto the sand. Castiel’s been with Dean for long enough _ and _seen enough of the kind of porn Dean likes to know where this is headed, not that he minds. Dean sets what’s left of the champagne aside and dives back into Castiel’s mouth, straddling his hips and kissing enthusiastically down the side of his face and over his lightly-stubbled jaw, before giving the same treatment to his neck. 

At the same time, he works Castiel’s soaking wet boxers down and off, and by the time he returns to sitting over his hips, he’s managed to lose his own as well. He’s got a devious smile on his face as he bends down to kiss at the vine-green outline of his own initials tucked in the crook of Cas’ elbow, and then to bite one of Cas’ nipples, and Castiel can’t help but roll his eyes.

“I’m going to end up with sand in unbelievably horrifying places,” he points out, but Dean just shrugs.

“You sayin’ you don’t want me to ride you, Cas? Right now, out here on the beach, with _ your _ brand new restaurant all lit up behind us on the boardwalk? You gonna try and tell me that even the _ idea _of that doesn’t get you all hot and bothered?” 

Betrayed by his cock that’s trapped between Dean’s inner thigh and his own, Castiel can’t do much besides narrow his eyes as Dean smiles, smugly triumphant from his perch above. He wiggles his hips and Castiel lets out a little noise against his will from the friction. 

“Kiss me,” he demands, reaching up to thread fingers into the hair at the back of Dean’s head, pulling him down and crashing their mouths together _ hard_. Their teeth clack and it takes a moment between the two of them to adjust, but pretty soon Dean’s tongue is pushed firmly down his throat and their hips are rolling together, Castiel rearranging his now-hard cock so that it can slide against Dean’s. It’s chilly laying in the cool sand with wet skin and a stiff breeze, but Dean’s body is on fire where it touches his and so Castiel just presses closer, letting the heat building between them warm him up. 

Dean doesn’t hesitate when it comes to sinking down on Cas’ cock, using his hand to guide him in and sitting upright as he presses down, groaning when he takes him to the hilt. He rocks a little to settle against Cas’ pelvis and Castiel finds himself grabbing both of his hips with a death grip, squeezing his eyes shut and panting so that he doesn’t ruin this for Dean.

“You were saying,” he manages through gritted teeth, “About me not… _ ugh,” _he groans, arching his back involuntarily as Dean rolls his hips. Castiel cracks an eye open as soon as he manages to regain most of his composure. “You did that on purpose,” he accuses, and Dean wiggles his eyebrows with a shit-eating grin on his face. 

“Should know by now not to challenge me, Cas,” he says nonchalantly, placing his palms squarely over Cas’ pecs and using them as leverage to fuck himself slowly up and down. “Mm,” he sighs, “S’been too long since we did this.” 

Castiel drags nails up and back down Dean’s abs and chest, letting them drift lightly all the way down to his cock where he makes a loose circle and strokes him slowly. “I’m sorry I’ve been so preoccupied,” he says softly. “I hope you haven’t felt neglected.” His breath hitches and his hand tightens as Dean leans back, dropping a hand behind his ass and between Cas’ legs to fondle his balls.  
  
“No way,” Dean assures him, shifting his rhythm so that he’s circling his hips more than sliding and can fuck into Castiel’s hand. “Just miss you.” 

“Things will be better now,” Castiel promises. “Just another few weeks until the restaurant finds its rhythm. This may be _ my _ big opening but it’s far from the first I’ve been a part of, and I can assure you it’s—” He cuts himself off with a series of jagged breaths as Dean squeezes his internal muscles and swivels in a way that makes Cas’ sight go white at the edges. “ _ Fuck,” _ he gasps, reaching out again with his free hand to grab Dean’s hip. “ _ Dean.” _

“You really gonna talk about ‘big openings’ and ‘finding rhythm’ while you’re fucking me, Cas?” Dean’s smirking again and Castiel can’t help but laugh, still a little breathless. 

“My... apologies,” he manages, his hand moving from Dean’s hip up to his throat. When he catches Dean’s eye and raises his brow, he gets a lip pulled between teeth in response, a wordless _ go ahead _ that he’s more than familiar with after all these years. “But two can play at this game.” He squeezes gently, just enough to apply a little pressure but not so much as to be dangerous. Castiel bends his knees and digs his feet into the sand for balance as he fucks up into Dean hard and fast, holding him in place while he does. Dean’s hand comes up to cover Castiel's on his cock, tightening and twisting the way he likes it while Dean himself moans and throws his head back, eyes fluttered shut. His body is beautiful pushed out and on display the way it is, and Castiel can’t help but wonder what the hell he was talking about _ lasting. _

Fortunately, neither of them really seem to be able to, as it’s not long before Dean’s coming, clenching down enough to draw Castiel over the edge with him less than a minute later. Castiel groans and presses his face to Dean’s chest, breathing hard against his warm, damp skin as he pulls himself back together. Dean slides off with a grimace and flops onto his back beside him, both of them staring wordlessly up at the stars, the lapping of the waves on the sand and the piles of the pier the only sounds. 

Dean threads their fingers together and squeezes, bumping his knuckles against Cas’ flank repeatedly until he gets his attention. 

“Hmm?” 

“You gonna marry me now, Cas?” 

The question throws Castiel off guard a little more than it should, considering it’s probably the fourth or fifth time Dean’s asked, over the last decade. He never gets down on one knee and Castiel’s pretty damn sure he hasn’t done something so concrete as to buy a ring, but nonetheless, for whatever reason, he keeps asking. It’s not as if Castiel’s ever said _ no, _ exactly, just… _ not now. _ Or, _ it’s not the right time, _ or _ you’ll change your mind. _Dean hadn’t spoken to him for a week after he dared to say that last one.

There’s silence between them for a moment, and Castiel can almost _ feel _Dean transition from holding his breath to quiet resignation at the answer he hasn’t even been given yet. So when Castiel rolls over and touches his face, he’s not surprised that Dean won’t turn and look at him.

“Yes,” he says simply. 

Dean’s head snaps towards him so quickly Castiel worries a little about whiplash. “Really?” 

Castiel leans forward and kisses his lips. “Really,” he replies. Dean scrambles to his knees, causing Castiel to need to shield his face from the spray of sand. He digs through the piles of their clothing to find his jacket, the one Castiel had worn out of the restaurant, turning out his pockets until a little box falls out.

“Dean,” Castiel says, incredulous. “How long have you had this?” Dean doesn’t reply, just opens the box on its hinge and holds it out, revealing a shiny platinum ring, plain and perfect. He pulls it out and works it over Castiel’s left knuckle until it sits comfortably at the base of his finger. Castiel looks down, still a bit shell-shocked. 

“Let’s just say I’ve had it for a while,” Dean finally admits. “Don’t make me say it.” 

Castiel’s eyes flick from Dean’s green ones down to the ring and back, hardly sure what to say. “Thank you,” is what he finally settles on. “For waiting and being patient. For not giving up on me.” He sits up and strokes Dean’s cheek while reaching for his flannel and draping it around his shoulders. “It’s cold,” he points out with a smile. “You should take me home and warm me up. We can celebrate with the rest of the champagne, call Sam and the kids once the sun comes up. Or now,” he amends, checking his watch. “They all left here around midnight, knowing them they’re home by now and up drinking.” 

Dean’s answering smile is wide, the way it always gets when someone mentions Sam, even though he saw him only mere hours earlier. “Hell yes,” he says, shoving his legs back into his jeans, wet sand and all. “And Benny,” he adds. “I think your Head Chef will want to know as soon as possible that you’re gonna need some time off for your honeymoon.” Castiel smiles and shakes his head in agreement. 

“Eventually,” he cautions. “_ Rhythm. _But we could stop at Benny’s on the way home.” 

Dean fist pumps with his free hand as Castiel takes his other and they start back across the sand towards the boardwalk and the lit sign above his restaurant that says _ Eastside Bar & Grill. _

“You wanna go back and turn that light off?” Dean asks, and Castiel shakes his head.

“Definitely not,” he says with a smile.

It’s then, looking up and seeing the content look on Dean’s face, his life’s work in front of them, and Dean’s ring on his finger that Castiel realizes Dean was _ right. _ The East Side isn’t his home, it’s just where he grew up, where he became the person who’s able to do the things he does today. _ This _is where he belongs, this is the place that he carved out for himself in the world and at Dean’s side. 

He’s finally home. 

_I think we've paid enough._  
_Honey, you are free,_  
_as much as you can stand to be._  
_You are free,_  
_As anything you think that means._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Their house outside Atlantic City:  

> 
> Thank you all so much for reading!!! I hope you enjoyed this labor of love. Please, please leave me a comment or rec this to someone you think might enjoy it! I would really appreciate it. :) 
> 
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